Agape
by Aobh
Summary: While dozing in the forest, Legolas is happened upon by a very curious child. AU. Set after the War of the Ring, told in both the past and present. An attempt at a realistic 'What If...' story.
1. A Curious Event

CHAPTER ONE  
 _A Curious Event_

* * *

 **Ogilion, Forty-second day of Iavas, F.A. 15**

"I wonder, is it my brother I race, or a slug?"

The words, yelled through the trees were accompanied by a hearty laugh and the near silent sounds of quick footfalls against the old forest floor. The night air was chilly, as was typical for so late into Iavas but it bothered not the two racing ellon. Though darkness encircled the forest it did not bring with it the dangers that it once had, nor the ominous feeling in one's chest. To the East the Forest River could be heard and if looked too closely could be seen to Elven eyes, shining in the distance through the slim spaces between dense trees.

Legolas answered Thalion's goading with a chuckle, grinning as he heard the gleeful whoops of his brother. Biting wind whipped sharply against his face as he changed course, avoiding the roots of a large beech tree. He looked to Thalion, surmising that they were at about the same pace. It was impossible to tell which ellon would win. A consciousness brushed against his mind and Legolas ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding a low hanging branch, sending a brief, silent thanks to the tree that had warned him.

"Tell me, who was it again who took great joy in teaching you that one should not claim victory until they have crossed the finish line?" Thalion laughed in response and Legolas turned in time to see Thalion jump suddenly, as if he had not even seen whatever had been in his way, a dwarfish curse leaving his mouth in a quick exclamation.

They ran in silence for a few minutes, neither paying much attention to who was winning, only the enjoyment they felt at being able to run through the forest unhindered by darkness or shadow of evil. Legolas, lost in thought, found himself breathing deeply. He was unfatigued and the action unnecessary yet it had been years since he had felt his forest sing to him through the wind. Ithilien thrived under his care and the land sung out its thanks but it was not home. Their settlement, though great, would never know the richness of Greenwood the Great and his heart, torn between the call of the sea and the call of the land, had ever longed to see his father's halls once more.

Thalion gave a low whistle, signalling for Legolas to halt and the elder did immediately, coming to a graceful stop against an ancient Oak. The tree was silent, its spirit having been driven out by the darkness that once resided in Northern Greenwood and Legolas allowed a second of grief for the consciousness that had fled. His hands, flat against the trees blackened bark, flexed once, offering a silent prayer of mourning. Thalion had stopped beside him, his hands placed in a similar fashion, his eyes closed briefly in prayer. Legolas watched his brother, mapping the surface of his face, the contours and the dips. Living among men, watching them grow old while they worked together to rebuild the land – it had made him feel as though he had been gone an eternity, when in reality it had only been thirty years. Thalion opened his eyes, a crystalline blue so similar to the colour of the pools in the Glittering Caves that Legolas found himself hard-pressed not to think himself back in the glorious expanse.

Thalion gave him a wide smile, taking a hand from the bark and holding a finger to his lips to signal quiet. He turned, straight silver blonde hair – the same shade as their father's – flipping around as he pointed West. Legolas frowned, following his hand. They had run closer to the Forest River than he had thought, it flowed smoothly, almost soundlessly in front of them as they hid behind the old oak, the Grey Mountains looming in the distance. It wasn't the river though, that Thalion pointed towards, but the people beside it. Instantly, Legolas' interest was piqued as he watched the men, women and children disembark from their boats and begin to set up camp for the night.

They wore strange garbs, fine silks and expensive furs far more colourful than anything the men in Dale had produced in recent years. Their skin, dark and sun-kissed glowed under moonlight. Speaking a strange language their leader, a man with a heavily lined face called out orders interceded by deep chuckling as two children ran around his ankles. A fire was started and a woman began to sing. Long, lilting notes filled the air while a man picked up a small drum, hitting it in time to the woman's voice. The group was no more than fifty; small by elven standards but for a group of men? Quite large. Legolas watched them, fascinated, until their tents were erected and they had begun to cook a meal. They seemed jovial, spirited. Here, an old woman tended to a young girl's hair. There, lovers, whispering softly as they gutted fish. The leader sat on a large stone, whittling a hunk of wood absently, casting furtive glances at his people as he hummed along with the singing woman, albeit off-tune.

Legolas looked to his brother, eyebrow quirked in question. Thalion grinned in response, leaning towards Legolas in a conspiratorially nature.

"They came from Dale," he whispered. "Though before that we know not whence. Travelling west along the Forest River. I do not think they know how close they came to us. Nomads, perhaps. Respectful, they take only what they need and barely disturb the forest. We've been tracking them since they arrived though this is the first time they've set up a full camp. Bailon will be upset he missed it."

Legolas grinned as he turned from Thalion and looked back towards the curious sight before him. The largeness of the group still confused him. The Beornings and the Woodmen rarely travelled outside of the Vale of Anduin, and even if they did it was usually in groups of no more than five or seven. Hunting parties.

"Haradrim?" Legolas murmured, hearing Thalion shift beside him to get a better look.

"No, we do not think so. Their garbs are strange. We have not seen them before."

Legolas was about to ask if they were perhaps Easterlings from Rhun when a woman he had not seen before emerged from the edge of the forest. Her hair, long and dark was wet, it hung in long, curling curtains down her back. She wore a baffling two-piece outfit. A tightly fitted leather top that lacked sleeves moved with ease as she walked while her bottom half was swathed in a thin beige material, overplayed by shimmering cream silks. At her waist, a strip of golden cloth seemed to hold the ensemble together.

Legolas' eyebrows pitched downwards as he watched her walk bare foot towards the leader of the group, her soft skirts rustling against the cold grass. Time seemed to slow, her footsteps echoing loudly in his ears. The call of the sea was far from where this strange woman was. She leaned down, golden bangles on her arms jumbling together as she placed a kiss onto the man's cheek. Legolas' eyes narrowed at the action, his entire focus singled onto their body-language. Though she was familiar with him, there was no further intimacy. Her hand, small and dark had risen and she ruffled the man's hair before she sat at his feet, twisting her heavy locks of hair to rid them of excess water. So intent was he, to watch her slowly comb her fingers through her thick hair that Thalion had to touch his arm to get his attention, his attempts to rouse the prince with his name having proved futile.

"Brother?"

Legolas turned, eyes wide, a slightly guilty expression on his face, as though he was an elfling once more and he had been caught doing something decidedly undesirable.

Thalion only smiled at his response, patting Legolas' shoulder. "They _are_ interesting aren't they?"

Legolas nodded, glancing swiftly towards the woman once again, only to find her now staring in their direction as though she could see them. Legolas watched with bated breath as her dark eyes narrowed. Their eyes, his, a bright sky blue and hers, as black as the night, seemed to lock despite the fact that she couldn't possibly see him. His breath caught in his throat and he scarcely breathed for fear of ruining the moment. He was under her spell.

He had no idea how long they stared at one another, it could have been seconds or decades. He did not know. After a while she blinked and the spell was broken. Legolas stumbled back from the old oak, blinking rapidly. Thalion looked at him with mild fright, hand outstretched, features taught with worry.

"What is it? Are you well?"

Legolas opened his mouth to try and reassure his brother but then – suddenly – he _was_ well. _Everything_ was well. The night a little more tepid, the air a little cleaner. The singing from the camp had grown more wonderful and behind Thalion, the woman had grown ever more beautiful. Legolas smiled reassuringly at his brother, nodding and grinning until Thalion relaxed, all the while his mind lay with the woman.

 _The_ woman.

Thalion began to ask if they should go back. Something about Feren and dinner at the outpost. Legolas was hardly listening but he nodded anyway, allowing Thalion to guide him away from the travellers' camp. They walked quickly, Thalion already whispering enthusiastically about a new recipe Bailon had learned from the Woodmen for roasted rabbit and how, though at times tough, the meat and mint leaf worked surprisingly well. Legolas nodded, laughing and smiling and _hm'ing_ at the right moments all the while his mind worked to imprint the image of the woman in his memories. As they neared a bend in the path he turned his head, allowing himself one last glimpse of the camp and was startled to find the woman standing by the tree they had just vacated, watching them go with a curious expression.

* * *

 **Orithil, Fifteenth day of Ethuil – F.A. 45**

Legolas had walked for days.

He had drunk little, eaten even less and though his body showed little sign of fatigue, his mind had grown weary in his wanderings. Days had passed him by, as had nights and dusks and early morning lights. He remembered vaguely and with some shame that he had lied to the guard at the Great Gate as he had left. His voice had been low, pleading in its rapidity. The guard, Eithillim, had narrowed his eyes at the Prince's approach, his mouth already opening to turn Legolas away.

 _I go to see Galmîr_ , he had said. Eithillim made a face, shaking his head, brown braids flying about his face as he held out a hand to stop his prince. Legolas no longer remembered exactly what had happened next, only that it took time and much pleading before Eithillim had eventually conceded, lowering his hand and giving one stiff nod of agreement. He allowed Legolas walk to the end of the Bridge, watching with some concern at the bend in his shoulders and the way his feet had dragged across the polished stones. Legolas turned at the last moment, offering what he hoped to be a reassuring smile. From the tightening around Eithillim's grey eyes, he thinks perhaps it had been closer to a grimace instead.

To add some semblance of truth to his lie he walked West at first, towards the dwelling of Galmîr. He walked until he could see her large talan and then turned East, picking his way through dense foliage until he reached the great River. From there he had switched to a waking state. His feet moved and bore him onwards but his mind was blank. He did not think. He did not speak. He tried, in vain, to not feel but the damp darkness that had festered in his heart ate slowly at his fëa.

The trees had whispered warnings and condolences, had offered their branches for rest and yet still the lonely elf had walked. When (at last) his feet could bear him no more, he succumbed to fatigue and it was a young sapling whose offer of shelter he had answered. And it was _here_ , lying on that thin branch, that Legolas had found himself under sudden interrogation.

" _Tuvam!_ " began an annoyed voice, "Ay ava!"

His eyes, closed in exhaustion, opened sluggishly and he found himself annoyed. Who had awoken him? _Why_ had they done so? Could they not see that he was tired? In mind and body and _soul_? What injustice! What _indecency_! What-

"I _said_ ," came the voice, though this time it was taught with anger and spat in thickly accented Westron. "Go _away_."

Legolas groaned, and though the sound was a pitiful excuse, he had done so with all the pride of one of the Eldar. He blinked, eyes adjusting quickly to the light filtering down from the saplings sparse array of leaves. The light, warm in the chill early spring air, seemed to caress his stiff face, pulling him from the deepest slumber he had had in more than thirty years.

Narrowed eyes peeked up at him through the sapling's branches, squinting against the pale morning light. Legolas' eyebrows, usually perfectly groomed though now an unkempt mess, rose slowly as he looked down at what he was almost certain was a child. The child's hood was pulled up over their head succeeding in obscuring most of their face. All that was visible were their eyes, angry flints against shadowy darkness and their cheeks, plump and youthful.

Legolas sat up slowly. His body felt heavy, like he had not moved in an Age. His eyes never left the child's below him as he swung down from the branch, feet landing steadily on the packed earth. As an afterthought his hand rose, coming to rest against the bark of the sapling, offering thanks for her shelter. A branch twitched stiffly, as if learning how to move even as it did so. His thanks had been accepted. The child, all angry eyes and chubby cheeks, followed this exchanged with growing annoyance.

Legolas towered over his (her?) small form and he felt himself bending his knees in order to reduce the gap. No need to make the child feel any more threatened then it obviously was.

"Are you deaf?" the child asked suddenly. Legolas started, blinking thrice. His head cocked to the side, mouth hanging slightly open in shock. "Or just simple?"

Legolas was barely given a second to answer before the child continued with their tirade. Their Westron was odd, spoken in a way that signified it did not come naturally. "I have asked you twice and I will ask you a third time- what were you doing laying on Samira? She is young, she cannot carry your weight. What if she had buckled? Would you have apologised and walked away as if nothing had happened?"

The wind whistled past them, tugging at the child's hood so much so that a hand rose to secure it. Their fingers were small and several shades darker than Legolas' own digits. The colouring reminded him of better times and his chest twisted painfully. His eyes closed briefly as he tampered the bout of grief. When he opened them again he found himself peering curiously at the child and they sighed, clearly exasperated with his silence.

The child's mouth opened again, ready to throw a barrage of angry words his way but he cut them off smoothly, holding out both of his hands by way of surrender. "You named the sapling Samira?"

He expected, at least, some relent. He predicted the child's shoulders to fall as he or she's attention was diverted by the question. He _expected_ the child to begin a tirade as children often do when they are proud of something. Instead, the child's eyes narrowed even further until he wasn't even sure if his form was still perceivable through the nearly touching lids.

"N _o_." The child responded, as if Legolas were indeed simple. "She named herself."

Now it was Legolas' turn to narrow his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly. "What?"

The child sighed and Legolas wondered if perhaps the child thought of him as some big, blundering idiot who fell asleep on saplings and couldn't understand the simple concept as a tree naming itself. It wasn't that he couldn't understand the concept – he _knew_ (and rightly so) that all trees had a name, a sentience that should be respected and honoured – he just couldn't understand how an _Edain_ child could come to the same conclusion his forefathers had realised eons ago.

"She cannot say much, she is only small and you have sat _all_ over her." There was accusation in the child's voice, as if they were personally disappointed in Legolas for laying on the tree. The little one rushed past him and crouched before the tree, tiny chubby fingers hovering over the tree's surface as though afraid to touch it. They threw, what Legolas assumed to be, another accusing stare over their shoulder, chubby cheeks high under the hood as though they glared at him. "You've rubbed off some of her bark. She will not thank you for that."

Legolas tried to move to accommodate the child. Stumbling slightly as he stood from his crouch he turned to face the tree and its small protector.

"I am sorry," he said quietly.

The child stood too, arms rising to cross over their chest. Legolas wished to ask the child more questions but the light had shifted above their heads, it bore down heavily on his body. What should have provided comfort had now become a burden. He wished so dearly to sit back against Samira's warm embrace.

"I-" he began before abruptly closing his mouth. He blinked, rather stupidly he guessed if the child's answering huff was anything to go by. The world grew dark as he swayed on his feet. He gulped, shaking his head to rid himself of this sudden ailment. His breathing deepened, the symptoms only getting worse. When was the last time he had eaten?

Legolas felt so very young – could almost hear his father's voice chastising him for being so foolish. The child's arms unfurled as they lent forward. "What is wrong with you?" The child asked and the question bore no warmth. If anything, they sounded even more annoyed that Legolas had decided to choose _now_ to come into difficulty.

When he did not respond the child moved forward, hands outstretched. "What is _wrong_?" the child repeated, though this time concern had warmed their voice.

Legolas attempted to speak, his mouth opened and closed as though in imitation of a fish. His hand, large and shaking, rose slowly until his palm lay flat against his chest. He gave one last confused look to the child before his legs gave way and all was silent in the Greenwood once more.

* * *

 **Notes From The Author** :

I've done a lot of research into Proto-Indo Iranian, Old Persian and Modern Persian (Farsi). The words I use are a mixture of all three languages. I am most definitely not a linguist aha therefore the grammar and sentence structures are probably wrong so I apologise for that.

The title 'Agape' is the Ancient Greek word for the fourth type of love: Selfless Love. It is the love extended to family and friends. C.S. Lewis referred to it as "Gift Love". It is unconditional love.

The story is told in two parts, in the past and present thirty years apart. Hope that wasn't too confusing!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for reading. Let me know what you thought.

\- Aobh x

 **Translations** :

"Tuvam! Ay Ava." (Old Persian) - _You! Go away/down!_

Galmîr and Ethillim are names I've made up. Galmîr roughly translates into Light Jewel or Treasure and Eithillim again roughly translates to Clear or Sparkling water/spring/well.


	2. Many Meetings

CHAPTER TWO  
 _Many Meetings_

* * *

 **Orithil, Forty-fourth day of Iavas, F.A. 15**

This is madness. Complete and utter madness.

Legolas shifted on the branch he sat on, curling his legs underneath him to alleviate the pressure on his thighs, repeating the same mantra over and over again as he peered down at the encampment below. _Madness_. _Complete and utter madness_. Thalion must have known it too, from the way his eyebrow had risen and his head had cocked to the side as if to say _really? You're going to bathe?_ _ **Now?**_ Legolas never lied! He prided himself on being a good, _honest_ ellon. His father had taught him well. Yet, here he sat, covered by foliage and canopy as he watched (spied) on the strangers below. He had been there since well before dawn, body angled and curled forward as to accurately see through the copious amounts of branches below him.

The group fascinated him. They had been all he could think about for two full days. Poor Feren had tried his best with him, constant conversation starters had been thrown in the Prince's direction and yet he had sat, quietly ruminating over the endless possibilities the group at the River posed. Who were they? Why had they come? He had thought often of his father. It is not often that he allowed strangers into his Wood. How had he reacted? Would he have told the leaders of the Woodsmen and Beornings? Warned them of the travelling strangers now dwelling on the edges of their land? Here he had always shook his head, smiling lightly. Eryn Las Galen had been Mirkwood for so long, the old ways were imbedded into his thinking. The world was new. Scarred and ugly, yes. But new and flourishing too. The Greenwood had seen too much darkness. Too long had Dol Guldur cast its shadow over the forest and its inhabitants. Perhaps this was his father's way of reforming his policies. Or perhaps it was merely his father's blatant disregard for Edain life that had allowed the King to barely bat an eyelid at this large group's arrival. Yes, he had thought sourly, that was most likely it.

Legolas shook his head, bringing his mind into the present as his gaze shifted. He had observed them for a few hours. Watched them wake and begin their day. They sung often, something Legolas found pride in. Their love of music was something he had in common with them – he felt closer to them in a way. The group slept in a mixture of tents and bedrolls on the bank of the river, many choosing the soft grass of the forest's edge over the roughness of the sand. They did not have a man on watch and Legolas found them ignorant for it. Who came to a new land and did not have a watchman at night?

Their language was strange, something he had never heard before; a mixture of soft, almost singing phrases interjected with rough, harsh sounding notes. However, despite the linguistics barrier he managed to slowly learn some of their names through close observation. Aminata, was the eldest woman and she had chosen to sleep furthest from the group, close to the water. She had awoken first, mumbling in that foreign tongue as she seemed to bless the sleeping camp. Old hands rising high and passing over her companions. When her blessing had ended she began to sing as she worked, pouring water from old leather skins into a large pot, sparking a fire with two flint stones. Later she could be seen tending to small things, content to let the younger, stronger men and women complete the more arduous tasks. The small children in the group (three that Legolas had seen so far; two boys and a little girl) often stuck to her side, holding her hands and singing songs as they ran around her hunched form. The woman rarely showed much emotion but once or twice Legolas had seen her hide a small smile beneath a wrinkled hand at their antics.

The next to wake was the leader, dark face framed by coiled black hair. He woke with an easy smile, something Legolas was beginning to think was a permanent feature on his face. He had chosen to sleep out in the open, nearer to the head of the camp. A small knife was clutched within his palm when he awoke. He knelt at the end of his bed for a while, head bowed in prayer. Eventually he had turned his face skyward, face free of trouble. Legolas watched in rapped attention as he brought his palm to his mouth, kissed the surface and raised the appendage to sky in thanks. Aminata approached him, whispering his name ( _Adarbad, Adarbad, Adarbad_ ) until the man stood and faced her. He let out of low chuckle, bending to swing the hunched woman into his arms. She scolded him immediately, deep voice barking out weird words which Legolas took as her commanding him to release her. He did but only after one more swing in his arms before he set her down on stable land, bending to place a loving kiss on the old woman's forehead. It was the same kiss he had bestowed upon his father's brow a thousand times; one he had given to Thalion almost daily. A familiar action of love. Legolas concluded that they must be related and although Aminata's skin was darker than Adarbad's, he thought perhaps the former could have been his mother. Something in the slant to their eyes, the position of their cheek bones and the dark colour of their eyes being almost the same shade.

Slowly the camp began to wake, many showing the same thanks to the sky as Adarbad had, though with less ceremony. The boiling water Aminata had created was poured into wooden cups, herbs mixed in with thin wooden sticks. The smell wafted up through the tree leaves and Legolas smiled as he caught the scent of foreign sweetness. _Tea_. The more he watched their interactions, the more he found similarities amongst them and his kin. Though friend to the Edain, Legolas had spent only small moments with them until he began his settlement in Ithilien. And though these strangers were new, they worked in much the same way as the men and women in Gondor. The sight of them warmed his heart and he often found himself drifting away from them to memories of his people in the West. He wondered what they were doing now. Hallesford and Bregan would have already set out for the day, nets tangled around their limbs as they pushed their small boat out into the river to fish. Perhaps Lillian was tending to her twin babes, singing them the Silvan lullaby he had taught her last Spring.

A snap below pulled his mind away from his memories, eyes which had been glazed over in memory sharpened immediately, his senses alert at once. He tensed for an intruder, body trained for the darker days of the Greenwood. He relaxed immediately when he saw who it was; she was unmistakable. Dark hair piled high on her head, dark limbs curled around a dripping pack in her arms. A bow was strapped to her back; odd tools he had never seen before attached to her waist. Legolas breathed in deeply, catching the tangy, coppery scent of fresh blood – she had been hunting. She approached the group from the forest and Legolas released a breath. He felt calmer with her there and realised he had waited half the morning for the familiar sight of her form.

This time she had abandoned her long swirling skirts for a tight pair of trousers. The material clung to her skin in a way that Legolas found entirely strange and embarrassing. Colour rose on his cheeks and he found himself pressing his cool palms to temper the hot skin as he watched her walk towards Adarbad, presenting the package to him with a mock bow.

Adarbad rolled his eyes in response, grasping the pack with large hands. He called Aminata to the girl, the older woman tutting at the state of the girl's clothes, tugging at the trousers in reproach. Legolas found himself smiling as the girl mimicked Adarbad's eye roll. She batted the woman's hands away, bending to place a kiss to the same spot that Adarbad had. _Daughter_ , his intuition surmised. Noting now, the similarities between the three strangers. Others came to the girl, placing their hands on her shoulders and arms in greeting. Legolas found them to be quite liberal with their physical affection. They held each other's hands and many hugged multiple times, seemingly with no prior reasoning. Their interactions were fascinating, but none more so than the woman.

Straining his hearing every time she was greeted, Legolas' annoyance grew as he failed to catch her name. The people spoke too fast and unless one was addressed by name and name alone many times, Legolas could not isolate the specific word. He watched her shrug off the thick furs that adorned her neck and shoulders, revealing another leather top. The children ran to her, clutching at her legs to hug her. She laughed heartily, throwing her head back. Her laugh was rough, it seemed to grate against her throat. It was far from an elleth's pleasant bell chime of laughter. Deep like her voice it was rich, it filled the crevices of his mind and he laughed softly at her glee.

She picked up one of the children, a young girl with a single brown braid down her back. Her face was dark, darker than many others. The woman brought the child's small head to hers, nuzzling the little girls neck until she protested in a high pitched squeal kicking her small feet in protestation. She brought the child towards a group of boulders, setting the young one down on the highest. The child beamed at the honour, sticking her tongue out at the other two young boys. The woman sat below the child's feet, beginning to speak immediately, hands rising and falling. She spoke animatedly and Legolas realised that the young ones must have asked her for a story, something he remembered doing on many occasions with his own father. Badgering the older ellon until he was given a magnificent tale of beasts and old hero's. He frowned slightly, watching the woman weave her tale. Were any of the babes hers? Perhaps the little girl whom she had shown such familiar attention.

The sun moved lazily across the sky and Legolas lost track of how long he watched them. Eventually two older women came to collect the young boys, clutching them tightly though they were well past the age (at least for Edain) of being coddled. He watched with bated breath for the mystery woman to pick up the girl and confirm his suspicions and yet it was Aminata who came forward to claim the now sleepy girl, carrying her with hidden strength as she smoothed an old hand down the girls back, soothing the yawning child. Legolas found himself relieved to note that perhaps the mystery girl was not the girl's mother. In fact, he had not seen the woman interact intimately with anyone from the camp throughout the day. The realisation was a welcome one, after the hours he had spent sitting on that branch, _finally_ he felt as though he could leave. He had observed and established. He had done what he had set out to do. He could get them out of his mind and devote his attention to his kinsmen at the outpost. As he unfurled his stiff body from the tree, he resolved not to come back. Glancing at the last moment as he left to gleam one last image of the woman he felt a deep sense of peace wash over him. This had been a good experience. He would not need to come back.

 **.**

Legolas' resolve lasted for a day and a half.

He tried valiantly to keep the new wonders out of his thoughts. Had made a better effort with Feren, falling into the same pattern of playful insults and easy conversation. The ellon had not questioned the Prince's earlier disinterest, only offering a small smile of forgiveness before launching into a tale of peril and woe and a duckling. By the end of the story the Prince had been red in the face with laughter and Bailon had buried his head in his hands, muttering about how that was not the way in which it had happened and that if anyone wished to know the duckling was perfectly safe.

Legolas had been content until the next night when he had grown distracted once more. He moved and talked as usual yet his mind was leagues away. Away with the strangers on the river bank.

"Brother!" Thalion called loudly, snapping Legolas out of daydream. His brother's warm hand landed heavily on his shoulder, squeezing it gently in greeting. "Lost in your thoughts again?"

He shrugged Thalion's hand off, huffing in mock annoyance. "Of course not."

"Ah," Thalion breathed, face suddenly serious and something in Legolas' chest tightened. Perhaps his brother had known where his thoughts lay. He braced himself for a chastisement. "I have heard often that as elves age their minds wither. Seeing as you are as old as an elk's testicles it should seem appropriate that-"

Legolas swung his arms up, pulling his brother down into a crushing grip across his lap. Grinning at Feren he bent to whisper in Thalion's ear. "Be careful what you say, little brother. This ellon could still beat you in a scruff."

Thalion yelled in response, a battle cry that had Legolas sitting upright immediately, sensitive ears twitching from the volume. He could feel his brother take in a large breath, his hulk rising as he opened his mouth to undoubtedly accept the challenge when Bailon climbed into the talan, large leather pack weighing him down. He set it onto the wooden floor with loud thunk, the few guards that had accompanied the Prince's on their excursion to Mirkwood's outskirts turning in curiosity to see what he had brought for dinner.

"I've forgotten the sage." He said immediately, hands held out in surrender. He ducked quickly, dodging the empty water skin that Feren threw at him. He began apologising, bending down to untie his pack and show everything else that he had gathered instead. Legolas' mind immediately went to the encampment. His fascination and curiosity surfacing once more.

"I will go and get it."

At first Legolas was as shocked as the others at his offer, him more so because it took a moment for him to realise it was in fact _he_ who had spoken. His voice had been soft, contemplative as he released his hold on his brother. Thalion moved to sit next to him, eyeing his elder brother weirdly.

"It is no trouble- the meal will work as it is, my Lord I-"

Legolas cut him off with a raised hand, shaking his blonde head. "No, no. Let me, please. It will give me a chance to stretch my legs. A day with Thalion often tires the fëa."

Thalion's suspicion dissipated as he laughed, clasping Legolas' shoulder as he shoved the elder towards the ladder. "Go then, old man. Journey forth. Try not to get lost in your old age, though."

Legolas let his chuckle serve as a response, shaking his head as he expertly lowered himself down the ladder. The contraption creaked slightly as he did and he made a note to talk to Feren about tightening its bindings to silence it once more. Sage grew towards the East of the outpost, back towards the Elvenking's Halls and yet Legolas found his feet moving West towards the strangers who inhabitated the spaces of Mirkwood which had been given to the Woodsmen and Beornings. _I will only peek_ , he reasoned, running quickly as so not to be seen by his kinsmen above. He felt guilty as he ran, wondering why he had not just simply told Thalion that he wished to see the group of Edain. He knew the answer, felt it stick in his throat as his excitement worked to tamper his guilt.

Thalion would not understand.

Legolas had always had an " _unhealthy_ " curiosity for the Edain. He found solace in their fast burning passions and thoughts. He loved them as he loved his kin and had often thought of them as distant cousins. Younger and naïve but one in the same under Eru's tutelage. Thalion thought of Edain as passing fancies, creatures to observe but never to mix with. It was a common belief, many of the Elves thought the pain and complications of a friendship with an Edain too great to ever bother. It was only him and the few elves who had accompanied him to Ithilien who had thought differently.

His feet slowed as he neared the camp, coming to a slow stroll as he took his time. This night was warmer than the previous one and though elves did not feel the cold, Legolas appreciated the rise in temperature.

" _Baga_!"

The exclamation startled him and he jumped back, eyes wide, mind working to understand the odd word. He knew the voice that had shouted it. He knew the planes of her face, knew the thickness of her hair. His eyes rose slowly, almost hesitantly. The sudden confrontation of his most pressing curiosity was like a punch to the gut. Here he had an opportunity to interact with one of the strangers and with the mystery woman no less.

She stood in front of him, blending into the shadows of the forest. If he was Edain he wouldn't have been able to pick her out from the darkness but he _knew_ her. Knew where she began and the darkness ended. She wore the same swirling skirts as she had before, belted with the strip of gold fabric. She stumbled forward, almost as shocked as him, her feet unsteady. Her mouth hung upon, bright white teeth flashing in the darkness as she muttered quickly and lowly. Eyes wide she pushed herself to stand before him, bowing as she did.

"Baga." She breathed, and her tone was of the utmost reverence. Legolas gaped at her, not knowing what to say, forgetting to show her the formal greeting of the Wood-elves he stood dumbly, waiting for her to say something else. She did not. Instead she dropped to her knees and Legolas felt a jolt of panic shoot through him as he worried that she was ill. He bent at the waist immediately, crouching over her hunched form, blonde hair mingling with her dark strands. She kept whispering the same word over and over again in that same awed tone.

" _Baga, baga, baga, baga_." Her hands were curled against the ground, fingers clutching at dirt and dead twigs, black hair spilling out around her to create a dark halo.

Legolas' hands rose, twitching as they hovered over her, his face contorting in worry. What was wrong? Was she sick? Was she overcome with some illness suddenly? His breathing was quick and shallow, imbued with panic. He allowed his hands to lower, letting the large palms rest on the woman's trembling back. She jerked up at the contact, shrugging Legolas' cool hands off as tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. Her movements were jerky as she placed her hands on either side of his face, thumbs smoothing the skin back and forth. If this were any other time or place or woman Legolas would have stopped the intimate act with a polite rebuff but he found himself petrified into immobility. He allowed the contact, revelled in it even. Her hands were burning, hotter even than Moria and his heart beat quickly to the tempo of distant war drums.

"Baga hacā Mavali." She whispered, tears finally released, she wept as she held his face, smiling gently through her tears. Legolas' hands rested awkwardly at his sides, fingers trembling as he shook his head back and forth. The woman clearly thought he was this Baga person and not for the first time Legolas cursed his inability to communicate with her. He found himself taken aback by the reaction this 'Baga' created in the woman, he felt flattered and confused and overwhelmed. Oh how desperately he wished to know the word 'Baga'!

"No…" He murmured, shaking his head more vigorously. The girl hiccupped, finally taking her hands from his person to messily wipe them across her wet face. She looked at him in confusion, though hope still shone in her eyes. Her mouth opened slightly at his voice, she seemed almost mesmerised "I am Legolas, my lady. I am not Baga… I am not Baga."

The girl blinked at his foreign words, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. For a moment she was silent, staring at him in the dim forest light as they knelt together on the floor. Legolas breathed deeply, taking in her scent of odd spices and something sweet that reminded him of nectar. The peace was shattered as she moved her index finger, poking him in the chest. "Baga?" She asked and Legolas shook his head again, trying his hardest to look apologetic.

"No. Not Baga." He pointed his own finger at his chest before introducing himself again. "I am Legolas."

The girl gulped, embarrassment forcing her eyes down. She stood quickly, fingers still wet from her tears rubbing at her now dirty skirts. She muttered a quick string of words, spinning on her heel to walk back the way she had come. Legolas started, rising slowly to his feet he held out a hand.

"Wait!"

She stopped at his word, turning back to him uncertainly, brow pulled down. He pointed towards his chest again, eyes wide and inviting. "Legolas."

For a split second Legolas thought she would ignore his attempt at communication and walk away. His face must have betrayed his sudden insecurity however because the girl seemed to huff, accepting the invitation she mimicked his movement, dark hand coming to rest against her chest. "Apranik."

He smiled at her admission and she briefly returned the gesture before she gave a small bow and turned again to the blend into the shadows she had emerged from. Legolas waited a while for her to return though when her sound of her steps fell to silence and it was clear she had gone far from him he turned back to the outpost. His feet were heavy, steps contemplative as he trudged back to his kinsmen. His mind was ablaze with the events that had happened. He replayed the scene again and again, body remembering the way her knees had pressed against his and the heat (oh, the heat) of her hands against his cool face.

He only remembered the sage when he returned, empty-handed, to the outpost. He endured the other ellon's teasing about the state of his mind in good faith, his fingers brushing softly against the cheeks Apranik had so familiarly touched.

* * *

 **Orgaladhad, Sixteenth day of Ethuil – F.A. 45**

There was no up. There was no down. In this state of living darkness Legolas found he could make neither heads nor tails of reality. He knew he was laying down but his body felt odd – almost as if it were floating. Where had he found himself? Flashes of random memories sparked beneath his closed lids though his mind was too weary to make sense of any of it. His chest felt tight, as though an Oliphant were sitting on his lungs and a deathly tiredness had welded his eyes shut. Where were the guards? Hadn't he been gone for days? Surely someone must be worried about him. He vaguely remembered the rising and falling of each new sun though every time he tried to count the passage of time his mind would freeze and he would begin again. It proved futile however, as a headache bloomed beneath the darkness and he found himself no closer to figuring out how much time had passed him by.

After a moment he allowed himself a pitiful groan, forcing his eyes open. His lids almost immediately slivered shut again, a low hiss escaping his dry mouth as the brightness of the day nearly blinded him. He gave himself some respite before trying again, albeit this time more slowly as he allowed his eyes to naturally adjust to the daylight. Shapes swam before him until the world, so foreign only a moment before, came to a startling, familiar halt. He was still in the forest, he realised, though he was on the bank of the Forest River and instead of a young sapling, this time his body had awoken haphazardly sprawled across an uncomfortable bed roll. His head lolled to the side in discomfort, the skin of his back perfectly detecting every rock and twig that hadn't escaped being brushed away before the bedding had been laid down. It was not normal for an ellon to sleep with his eyes closed in two consecutive sittings and Legolas wondered if perhaps he had made himself sick again. His pictured his father and brother as the thought lay a heavy burden on his conscience. He quickly pushed his mind to the present. There would be time for self-hate later.

His vision shifted as he looked at the ground beside him. It was flat, showing signs of having been swept recently. The forest was rarely tended to and Legolas came to the conclusion that it had been swept for another bed roll. Whoever's bedding he lay on, they did not lay there alone. He had not the energy to sit up just yet, instead he allowed himself to become immersed in the comings and goings of a trail of ants, allowing his fingers to become obstacle courses for the creatures. He could hear his King's voice reprimanding him for disrupting the daily life of smaller beings and he gave a small chuckle, smiling as one ant found particular interest in the dirt under his fingernails. Legolas grimaced at the sight, noting the way his tunic clung to his underarms with unhealthy sweat. If he wasn't careful, he would start to smell soon. The notion twisted his mouth downwards into a frown and he gazed longingly at the river some way from him yet. He was positioned before the river bank, feet hanging off the end of the dull green bed roll he wondered how he had gotten there.

The snippets of memory from earlier came back slowly and his eyes, large and unblinking, stared off towards the crystalline river as his mind formed the image of an angry child. _Of course_ , he thought belatedly, watching his memories come alive before him in a waking dream, _who else_? Silence greeted his question and he wondered where she (he?) had gone and how they had managed to get him here all by their self. He remembered them barely skimming the tops of his thighs in height so they must have had help. Who would leave a child so young along in the forest? Legolas wondered how far he was now from the sapling Samira, thoughts drifting to the way the child had chastised him as if _he_ were the one barely above Hobbit height. At the wayward thought of his dear Hobbits his mind drifted once more in grief, eyes fixed on a point just past the oblivious ants.

"You are awake."

Legolas tried to hide his start at their entrance, concerned that his senses had dulled enough that he hadn't heard them approach. His eyes lazily rolled towards them. He had hardly paid any attention to the child's clothes when last they had spoken, so shocked he had been at their sudden appearance in the forest. This time he allowed a critical eye to take in their attire.

The clothes were too big for them, the sleeves of their simple cream tunic rolled up several times as were the cuffs of their leggings. The material appeared rough, a deep brown in colour and Legolas wondered where he had seen their likeness before. Their face was concealed once more though this time by a dark scarf pulled over their head, the bottom of which was pulled loosely against their face so that only their eyes (less angry now) and bridge of their nose were visible. A small bow was strapped to their back and at their waist, an assortment of daggers and one short knife. Legolas blanched at the thought of a child being so heavily armed and he opened his mouth to ask what dangers they had faced to warrant such security but the child cut him off.

"No talk. You are depleted. You must eat."

Legolas kept his steady gaze on them as they, after a hesitant pause, slowly walked towards him. This was the first time he has seen the child unsure. Where before they had been confident in their scolding they now seemed…wary. He wondered what had happened while he had been unconscious. The child held a wooden bowl in within their small grasp, pudgy fingers barely fitting the bowls circumference. He absently marvelled how they shot a bow with such a short arm span and made a mental note to ask them to show him later. The child dropped to a crouch before his body though the little thing seemed determined to sit as far from him as possible. The bowl was shoved into his lap and he gathered his strength to push himself into a sitting position. For a split second the world span as the blood rushed from his head. He breathed in sharply, impossibly long fingers curling around the bowl as he righted himself. The child watched him critically, muscles tensed. Legolas watched them back steadily, eyes unbelievably wide with curiosity. The child shifted uncomfortably.

"Eat." They urged again, the sound far too… _old_ to have come from such a youthful visage.

Legolas remembered the way they had railed him with scolding's on their first meeting and wished desperately to avoid such another situation, if only to save himself from furthering his (slowly abating) headache. He looked down at the bowl, noting with a quick thanks to Eru that they had gathered him edible berries. The colours were a welcome sight to his tired eyes and he dipped a large, eager hand into the bowl, fisting out an assortment of Bilbery's, Rosehip's and Damson's. His nose wrinkled, however, at the round dark purple fruit that rested on his little finger. _Sloe_. He discreetly twitched his finger, allowing the fruit to drop back into the bowl before bringing his weighted hand to his mouth and tipping his head back. The fruits squelched deliciously in his mouth and he savoured their mingling tastes, eyes sliding shut as he forgot his surroundings and enjoyed the tastes of the berries.

"I do not like them either." Legolas opened his eyes slowly, reluctant to disentangle himself from the bliss eating had given him. The child had shifted without his knowledge, one leg curled beneath their bottom while the other was up, knee supporting their left elbow. Their hand lay beneath their chin, pushing the material of their scarf even higher over their face.

Legolas gave a nod of agreement, dipping his hand back into the bowl, careful to leave all the Sloe behind. When he was done with his second handful he allowed his tongue to flick over his lips, soothing the dry, cracked flesh. The child watched this movement without comment, moving only to push a water skin towards Legolas' hands. They were again careful not to touch him.

"Drink." They ordered and Legolas did. He drank so much and for so long that the child grew worried, holding out chubby hands to stop the ellon from seemingly drowning himself in the clear liquid. "Slow. You will make yourself sick."

Legolas closed his eyes at her reprimand, slowing his drinking but only because he felt the sack grow lighter and he wished for the water (and the experience) to last longer. His body, which he had denied sustenance, seemed to grow strong with every sip he took, senses slowly coming back to life.

The child allowed his bout of rebelliousness to continue for a moment more before they lunged forward quickly, little fingers snatching the water skin from his hands so suddenly it took him a moment to realise what had happened. His fingers twitched around thin air as he raised an eyebrow at their actions.

"I am perfectly capable of drinking by myse-"

"What is wrong with your ears?" The question took the Prince by surprise and his eyes, narrowed in annoyance, widened. He could not decipher the look in the child's eyes. It seemed to be a mix of extreme distrust – perhaps curiosity? And something else. Something that almost resembled… relief? Or was it pride?

Legolas laced his fingers together, placing his hands onto his lap. He eyed the water skin the child held and wondered if he would scare the small creature too terribly if he snatched it back. _What is wrong with your ears?_ He knew what the child referred to and narrowly avoided a pang of offence when he reasoned that the child had probably never seen one of the Eldar before. He realised that this conversation was entirely strange and that, given time he would look back on it and wonder why it was all happening but until such time had come to pass he revelled in the peace of the forest around him and the curious mystery the little thing before him presented.

The young one lent forward waiting for him to answer and as they did a lock of their hair slid forward, falling from within the scarf and into view. It would have been an entirely un-noteworthy occurrence had the single lock of hair not been a shock of silvery white.

It was Legolas' turn now, to narrow his eyes as the child quickly transferred the water sac to one hand, using their free appendage to push the offending piece of hair back into the shadowy confines of its scarf. The damage was done, however. Legolas' curiosity flared and for a moment he almost forgot the ache in his chest and the heaviness of his bones.

How _interesting_.

What could have caused such a light shade of hair on a creature so dark skinned? The occurrence was unnatural. Edain rarely had white hair outside of old age and even then it was caused by extreme fright and even _that_ was a rarity, legend almost. Legolas thought back to the weapons at their waist and the child-sized bow at their back and he frowned at the thought of someone so young being so terrified that their hair bled white.

"There is nothing wrong with my ears." He said eventually, turning his eyes from the crouched child to the forest behind him. It was only then that he noticed another thin bed roll folded and and lent against a tree. He wondered at its angle, surmising that whoever had put it there had thrown it in haste rather than placed it there carefully. Next to the bed roll was a large pack, the straps of which had been done up wrong, the contents inside not having been packed properly. His eyes darted back to the child's accusingly. "Who is with you?"

The child blinked, letting out a long breath as they dismissed his line of questioning. Their voice was as low and foreign as it had always been and not for the first time Legolas found himself frowning at their speech patterns and accent. Familiarity bubbled beneath his skin as he again wondered whether the child was male or female, the deep emotionless of their voice making it impossible to tell. "No. Your ears. They are mangled. Why?"

Legolas forgot all notions of familiarity as his nose wrinkled in distaste at their wording. His ears were not mangled. How _dare_ they. "My ears are not _mangled_ , boy. They-"

"I am not a boy." The child said, interrupting him again, dangling the water sac over the ground, amusement tightening the corners of their shadowed eyes.

Legolas lifted his chin in a (decidedly) haughty expression. "Inconsequential. My ears are not mangled, _girl_."

The girl in question merely squinted in reply, waiting for him to continue. Legolas did not out of spite. Instead he occupied himself with planning all the ways in which he could get the water skin from the child without being _too_ rude.

"If they are not mangled, why are they pointed?"

Legolas huffed a single bark of laughter, startling the child so much so that she seemed to lean back and away from him. "I am of the Edhil. Our ears are so."

"Ed- _hil_." She murmured slowly, frowning at the ground as she sounded out the word. Her eyes snapped to his sharply, narrowing as they did. "I do not know this word. 'Tis beyond my Westron."

"That is because it is _not_ Westron." He replied easily. He shifted forward quickly, nimble fingers plucking the nearly empty water skin from the girl's grasp easily. "I am _Elven_." He elaborated in Westron, uncorking the water skin and tipping the last of the liquid into his mouth. He wondered at her not knowing the word _Edhil_. It was one of the most common words of Sindarin and he knew for a fact that most men used it to refer to elves as a whole.

The girl watched him with much the same annoyance he had had earlier. Her eyes, filled with sudden worry flickered towards the other bedroll lent against the tree before returning to Legolas' steady gaze. "And are there more of you… _Elven_ here?" She asked uncertainly, fingers tapping against her bent knee in agitation.

Legolas chose his next words carefully, watching what was visible of the girl's face with rapt attention. "Of course. Most of Rhovanion is ours." The girl did not react how he had expected. Instead of another show of confidence, for one moment she looked completely lost and Legolas regretted his manipulation. He lent forward, taking advantage of the girl's momentary break of character as her chubby hands twisted together with worry. His voice softened, eyes becoming large and sympathetic.

"Now will you tell me who you are with, little one?"

* * *

 **Notes from the Author** :

The dates have been amended for both past and present. The thirty-year passage of time has been kept intact, everything has just been shifted a little earlier. It was always my intention to have it this way but I must have forgotten to change the dates on the document.

Once more: I'm an awful linguist so the words are probably in the wrong order so I apologise again haha.

Sorry this chapter took so long! It was finished a few days ago but I was so busy I couldn't find the time to edit it.

Thank you for the reviews, it was so wonderful to get feedback. One of the reviews by 'Helen' said that my language was too flowery and that the story was too hard to follow and I thank them for their constructive criticism. Did anyone else find it hard to understand? I have tried to tone down the flowery language, though it may just be the way I write. What did you think of this chapter? Was it difficult to follow?

Let me know what you think and again, thank you for reading!

Hope you have a wonderful week.

Aobh (: x

 **Translations** :

Mavali – Liberated Slaves in old Persian.

Baga – God – Old Persian

Baga hacā Mavali – God of the Liberated Slaves

Apranik means "Daughter of elder"


	3. Strange Western Land

CHAPTER THREE  
Strange Western Land

* * *

 **Ormenel, Forty-sixth day of Iavas, F.A. 15**

Apranik did not like this new land.

She did not like its clean air, nor its icy winds. She did not like the fact that she had to huddle within her thin blankets for warmth at night. She did not like the short, waking days and the smell of wet earth. She longed for the cloying desert air. So thick with dust that oftentimes scarves had to be wrapped securely over mouths and noses to keep the flying sand from people's chests. Winter in Rhûn was hardly a blip in the constant days of heat and its heat, harsh and unforgiving, seemed naught but a distant memory in the wake of this sticking cold. Twice the sky wailed with rain, thundering over their heads in anger and Apranik wondered if this land was as cursed as they said.

Their journey had been long. So long, in fact, that many in the group had decided to turn back even before they had reached the strange town by the lake with its dirty people and their filthy mouths. When what was left of their group had reached the town the Lake people had advised, in their gruff Westron that grated against her ears, that though it would make their journey longer by three weeks, they should skim the outskirts of the forest and not enter it.

 _Too long_ , their group had collectedly thought. Their elders were weary. Their journey must soon be completed and they had news for the fair King of Gondor.

At first the Lake people would not tell of a shorter route – their sallow faces had paled and their hands had fisted.

 _No, you must go around,_ they said.

After they presented their letter with the seal of the Gondorian King on it and some cajoling on Adarbad's part the men of Dale relented, telling them to scull their way up the Forest River and then turn South along the Forest's Eastern borders and find Beorn's people, they would tell them the way to Rohan and beyond that Gondor and their new home, Ithilien.

King Bard the Second (a short man with dark hair and even darker eyes who watched them with curiosity and suspicion) had taken their money with a frown and given them four boats –any more and their backs would have broken under the strain – with which to push against the current of the Forest River.

"Do not disturb the forest." He warned, and Apranik thought it strange how boyish his eyes looked despite his weathered face. "Another river will flow into it- you must not drink the water until you have passed this point." He did not explain why they should not and Adarbad had not questioned the King, instead he grimaced and bowed to the small King and his strange Lake men, thanking them for their help.

The River flowed strongly East and the scull had been hard and though not strangers to the actions, their muscles were unaccustomed to the repetitive motions carried for so long. The River, in parts, became too thin for boats, and they had had to steady the carriages in the frigid water while many stepped from one rock face to another to continue on foot. When the rocks had fallen way, or widened to allow their boats to move freely they had piled back in, twelve in each almost laying on top of one another. By nightfall they reached the Forest's edge they came to a large arch on which what appeared to be stone guards stood. Apranik watched them long and hard, even after their boats had passed under its immense structure. When at last she turned away movement caught her eye and she whipped back around so fast Adarbad chided her for rocking the boat. When she fixed her eyes on the statues however, they were as immobile as always though she could have sworn that they- she shook her head. Already this Western plain was trying to poison her mind. She did not look back again.

Under a bridge they passed, Apranik barely bothered to look up, only noting its immense height and wondering if it was part of the 'Woodland Realm'. If so, it looked abandoned. Not a soul had come to greet them nor question them. They were…alone.

As the moon reached its apex in the sky the river met the Forest's edge. It loomed before their boats ominously and many crossed their chests, offering their hands skyward in prayer for Aiwa's protection. They continued through the forest for as long as they could until their arms grew weary and Adarbad bade them disembark to rest. The forest floor was slippery and Karrach, in foreign darkness, had fallen badly while disembarking and her injury ( _broken_ , her Adarbad had murmured with a rare frown) cost them three days of lingering. Not that any cursed Karrach for their fall or their subsequent delay, in fact Apranik was sure the woman was loving the attention and she was no stone either. She sat by her friend constantly singing and petting and plaiting her hair over and over to help with the pain. The consensus was clear, Karrach would not wither so soon into their new life in this cold land.

When they had been able to move her again the group began again. Karrach was given her own boat and her brother Larchan sat by her side constantly. The people displaced walked along the River's edge, rotating with those in the boats so that they had chances to rest.

Many times as they travelled through that dense forest had Apranik found herself tensing under watchful eyes. Many times had her head swivelled, face scrunched in annoyance, eyelids pushed so close together in a squint that they almost touched and yet, out in the unnatural darkness of the forest, no figure could be discerned from shadow and she had been left feeling as dirty as the men in Lake-town had looked. Her dagger, a gift from her late father, kept vigilance in her left hand, always ready to sink its teeth into the flesh of those that would do her or her people harm.

Four more nights they travelled along until the aforementioned second river flowed into the first. It took them five times each way to ferry everyone across the new obstacle. As soon as they lay on the other side each person drank greedily from the crystal water and water pouches were replenished, drained and then filled again in jubilance.

Six more nights they then travelled, following, as the men of Lake-town had advised, the River's eastern flow until they had approached the edge of the vast forest on its Western side. Here the trees thinned, levelling to flat lands and strange, large boulders that stretched across the river banks far north until they mingled with the Grey Mountains in the distance. It is here that they had decided to camp, worried about Karrach's leg and mindful of the five (exhausted) elders they travelled with.

They agreed, unanimously, that they would wait until Karrach could walk with aids until they began their journey again but the woman had grown sick, the break in her leg had not been clean and in their haste to set it, more skin had broken and had become infected. None of their remedies seemed to work against this new infection and no one knew when they would begin their journey again. For now they were rooted where they stood, on the edge of a strange forest in a new land.

Their first night at the edge of the forest was tense and fraught with false cheer but they tried, for the little ones, to smile as often as they could. To sing loudly to mask Karrach's moans. After they set up a tent for Karrach so that she may have some dignity in her sickness, Apranik went and bathed in the freezing stream and though she tried to ignore the feeling of being watched, often she would think back to the stone guards on the archway. Had they really moved? Had she just been paranoid? The latter was seemed more and more unlikely though she wished it weren't.

Even far from the heart of the forest Apranik could feel eyes on her. Watching her every move. Every step she took was judged and balanced, her threat dismissed almost as soon as it begun.

Often she found herself slightly affronted by this judgement. Who were they to dismiss her without much thought? No welcome they had been shown – though no reprimand either. The forest, though beautiful and dark was seemingly deserted. Apranik had almost resigned herself to ignoring the feeling of being watched – unwilling to spend so much time contemplating a 'feeling' when Karrach grew steadily worse.

As she dried her body and quickly redressed she resolved to ignore the feeling completely. That is, until she felt eyes on her far more intensely than she had in the past, burning into the hollow of neck as she had sat at Adarbad's feet, drying her hair in the stiff, Western air.

Murmuring that she would be right back and not waiting for her brother's reply she walked towards where the feeling was strongest, coming to a large tree at the edge of camp she placed a hand against its bark, water pruned fingers scratching against its rough exterior. She paused and waited yet there had been no one there. At first she had been relieved, her shoulders lifted, the weight gone – she had been wrong. There were no eyes watching her beloved Mavali, there was no one there. No one. She could stop panicking and allow herself to look at this strange land with new eyes. She turned, roguish grin forming, heavy wet hair clinging to her shoulders. A step back towards her brother she paused, turning back with a huff. A little niggling voice told her to check thoroughly – to be one hundred percent certain. It would not be sated by this half-truth and forced relief.

With bated breath she walked around the hulk of the tree, fully expecting to see nothing but a dark forest and instead being accosted with the sight of two glowing figures walking back into the thickening trees.

Her first instinct was to scream at these strange things, these strange creatures in this strange land but her scream had caught in her throat, quashed against her sudden fear. Eyes wide with panic watched as, if slowed by time itself, one of the beings turned their heads at the last moment. Impossibly white-blue eyes connected with hers and she felt her stomach drop from her middle. Could almost hear the sack of flesh fall from her and squelch in the short grass at her feet. Whatever it was, was… _beautiful_. Too beautiful, in fact. Its beauty made her start, made her eyes prick with tears and she felt sick despite no longer having a stomach to feel sick with.

Though she knew it couldn't possibly be, her first thought turned to Aiwa. The God of all. The apparition (because it must have been, for nothing that precious could exist in this strange land) disappeared around the bend of a tree before she could fully see him. The image of his eyes, unearthly and impossibly bright burned their way into her memory and she knew, right then, that she would never forget their countenance for as long as she lived.

She walked back to Adarbad in a daze, talking as though her body were possessed by another she barely registered eating the small bowl of soup she had been given nor preparing herself for bed later in the night. As the camp fell asleep however, she could not seem to nod off, tossing and turning until she eventually found herself back at the same tree, walking around it and following the way she remembered the God's to have gone. That was the first time she had gotten lost in the forest. No matter which way she turned she believed she always ended up at the same spot, at that same tree. Whatever magic lay in the land, it turned her around and upside down. Apranik's suspicions bloomed once more.

In the morning she had told of the happening and Marrat had agreed that the same had happened to her – it hadn't been until she called out and Gaaran had her heard her that she had been able to make it back to camp. Aminata suggested that all who wandered from camp use string to find their way back and, as Apranik was their most skilled hunter, she had been given most of the twine. She never expecting to see the alien God's again, concluding that it had been a sign from Aiwa that their migration was blessed. It had been a shock then, when three days later she had seen the same apparition.

It had been late and cold and her furs were barely keeping the biting wind at bay yet she had walked with grim determination, pushing her long legs onwards. Her fingers, cold in the night air repetitively tied string around the hulks of those great trees as she walked. It was a long process and made her hunt three times longer than it should be but if it prevented the disorientation – the feeling of being profoundly lost then she would bare its longevity.

Karrach was faring no better and she needed meat to sustain her in the western fall if she had any hope of her leg healing. The forest grew darker which each step she took, blackening in some places to allow her imagination to run wild with creatures of the dark, while she fingered the coarse string at her waist. She was not arrogant enough to think herself invisible in this strange new land and so she had tried to keep as close to the forests edge (and the light it provided) as possible but with her limited experience with forests she knew eventually she would need to go deeper in order to catch the largest game. Her body felt, as it usually did at this time of night, more alive than it did when the sun was up. In Rhûn it was often too hot to work during the day and many of the animals had been nocturnal. Mavali were known to wake early, before the sun rose in order to work and build before the sweltering heat made it impossible to do anything but rest.

A light ahead had slowed her steps, a soft glow that drew her close as though she were an insect following the glow of a lantern to her death. But death, unfortunately, was not what she had found. Embarrassment was perhaps a better word for it. The being was there again all pale skin, bright alien eyes and immense height.

Convinced that the being was really Aiwa she had immediately fallen to her knees, weeping and calling out for God only to have the thing- whatever the strange creature was she had no idea- shake it's head and call itself 'Legolas'. Her emotions –elation and then shame and abandonment and then a crippling embarrassment that added heat to her dark cheeks- changed so quickly she felt as though she had hit her head and, after mumbling her own name she fled, enduring the disappointment from Adarbad and their mother at her empty arms and barely glancing at Karrach from shame.

That had been two nights previous, now she sits crouched among a copse of tall, wild grass, knees aching and ankles numb. The glade was silent, soft morning light coaxing colours out of what had before been varying shade of grey. Long had she crouched here and waited for game. The animals were strange in the West she had learned, tamer too. It took much less effort to fell one of them for meat than it did to take down a migrating auroch.

In the middle of the glade, deep within the thickest parts of tall grass stood a grazing deer of some sort, brown hide speckled with white. It was larger than the native deer of Northern Rhûn yet somewhat more beautiful than their scrawny Eastern brothers. The animal had come a while ago but Apranik had stayed her hand lest it hear her hasty movements and bolt. Now she quietly pulls the bow from her back and notches an arrow, barely breathing.

She _needed_ this catch. For Karrach. For everyone. She had slowed her movements to what felt like a millimetre a minute in order to minimise the noise she made and her muscles ached from the strain of having to aim and maintain the tautness of her bow string for so long.

The beast moved into a sparser patch of grass and Apranik closed her right eye to aim, shifting slightly as to hit the beast right between its intelligent eyes. Her tongue, pink and dry lay on her bottom lip, pushing at the corner of her mouth in concentration. Her aim was true and she muttered a short thanks to Aiwa before releasing the arrow.

Many times through her life had she done this same task and it had always gone the same way- the arrow would fly, the beast would fall and she would carry its carcass back to her people. In the split second that she released the arrow, though, that same routine (practised and perfected over the years) deviated.

 _Something_ pushed her arm at the last moment and her arrow, careened off to the side causing her to drop her bow from shock and firhgt. Missing the deer-like creature it hit a tree on the opposite side of the clearing with a deep _thunk_. The animal started, snapping its long elegant neck up and zeroing in on where she crouched. Its eyes, black and marble like, roamed over her figure before the animal turned and ran, elegantly disappearing into the line of trees. For a few moments Apranik had no idea what had happened. Her mouth hung open, hanging on a hinge as she took in the now empty clearing.

 _What?_

One moment she had been ready to kill the animal and the next-

The ' _something'_ twitched on her arm drawing her attention. Curiously, a hand, pale and slim with strange long fingers, was wrapped around her upper arm.

The _being_ was sat beside her, glowing in that unnatural state he (or she, though Apranik was almost certain it was male) seemed to perpetually live in. Their face, though contrite, was firm in its conviction, mouth drawn taut. She did not like his eyes. They were too light- they frightened her. It was like looking upon a wraith and she had no intention of passing into Aiwa's realm.

His beauty and its strange repulsiveness gave her pause, as it always did, waylaying her anger with him. And she _was_ angry. Angry with this strange alien. This strange 'Legolas'. _Legolas_ with white yellow shinning hair and beautiful alien face. _Legolas_ who had allowed her to cry on him when she had called him God. _Legolas_ who she was certain she had felt watching her late at night and early in the morn. _Legolas_ who had ruined her chances at finding any meat for Karrach.

Her heart, already beating as though she had run from Hidad to Kashore, twisted with guilt and anger. Karrach would suffer for her failure and it wasn't even _her_ fault. With a hiss she tugged at her arm, prompting the creature to release her.

"Bi sho'oor kosefil!" she exclaimed, mouth twisting angrily around the words.

Legolas gave no hint of understanding, no acknowledgement that he had heard her insult and she huffed in annoyance, pushing herself to stand despite the numbness and ache in her legs. Swaying slightly on unsteady legs she spun on a tingling foot, wincing as the muscle seized. At her feet her bow lay discarded, forgotten in her anger. She fully intended to leave the pale white thing where it crouched and never speak to it again but as soon as she had she taken a step away the thing grabbed her wrist, tugging until she reluctantly faced him once more.

It was now standing and she had to crane her neck back at his staggering height. Ai, he was tall! Tall and _large_. Taller than any man she had ever known. It frightened her. Dressed in a simple green tunic and leather breeches, Apranik noted that, though his limbs were slim, he was somehow just _larger_. Larger than her. Larger than her whole world. His body, large as it was, took up her whole vision. All she saw was him and the morning light, peeking from behind his blonde halo of hair. So bright was he that she had to squint up at him, heat of the sun searing her vision.

She opened her mouth, sucking in a lungful of crisp morning air to ask him who he thought he was to lay his hand on her but he beat her to it, launching into a tirade of that same musical language he had spoken two nights before. It blinded her in its loveliness, so different from the rough beauty of Mavalese. She found herself relaxing the more he spoke, shoulders falling ever so slightly. Rather than pull at her wrist as she had from the moment his cool fingers had wrapped around it, she leaned towards him. She relaxed as his words worked to placate her- to morph her into complacency. She could not understand the language but whatever it was it weaved a song of obedience and she found herself obliging him. Allowing him to scold her, to correct her past transgressions to-

"Goheno nin, sedho. Le nuitha. Im ava- an ngell nîn sedho, Apra-"

Apranik snarled a word. It could have been _no_ \- it might even have been his name but one moment she was caught within his web and the next she had torn her arm free, startled back into the present.

"Daiwas!" she cried, hand curling into a fist. She let it soar upwards, in intending to strike his face. The command to _defend_ being given it before her conscious mind had even registered the action. He caught her hand easily though, the largeness of his palm allowing him to curl his fingers around her fist. "Daiwas hacā Umba-"

"Û!" He said loudly, cutting across her, pausing before continuing in a much softer tone. "Û…" He murmured a few more words, too low for her to hear in that same, musical lounge.

Much to Apranik's glee he appeared frustrated. Dark blonde eyebrows pulled low over his unnatural eyes. She barely resisted the urge to spit at him and she rolled her eyes when he shot her a pleading look. With one hand around her wrist and the other curled around her fist they were locked in a mutual state of disadvantage. She tried, once more, to pull her arms back to herself but Legolas shot her a warning, tightening his fingers until she stopped struggling.

The look she gave him could have felled an Oliphant, she was certain. He sighed, wide unnatural eyes scanning her face in apology. " _Apranik_." He said and she disliked the way he said her name. As though he breathed new life into the old word. As though it were precious and sacred. She tensed, pulling again at her hands despite the fact that the more she tugged the more they began to ache. Though his hold was tight and it did not bruise, his grip was like stone, it was as though a statue clung to her. Like the statue's they had passed on their way to this dreadful Forest. The statue's that-

"Apranik, û. Av-'osto. Sedho! Le thel tog naeg. Ni thel le û naeg." He breathed and then, almost apprehensively as though he were afraid of her response he continued in another language all together.

" _No_."

No. _No_.

That was a word she _knew_. A word she could _understand_. Her eyes widened, jaw loosening once again in her surprise. Why had she not spoken Westron to this creature before? Of course it spoke Westron in this _Western_ forest on this _Western_ plane. Her understanding was better than her execution but Adarbad had managed to teach her enough to get by in Dale. She leaned closer to him, watching in satisfaction as he grew uncomfortable with her proximity.

" _Yes_." She breathed in that same Western tongue.

Her pronunciation was strange, she knew. Often in Dale its inhabitants had hesitated before answering her simple questions, as though they had to go over her words a few times until they matched normalcy.

Legolas seemed to suffer from many emotions at once, face twisting in elation and then curiosity and then settling somewhere between pride and confusion. His reaction would have made her laugh had she not been suffering from her _own_ inundation of emotions.

The anger she felt on behalf of Karrach was still there, festering with the guilt she felt at the woman's predicament and the worry she had as she pictured the girl's sallow skin and weak breaths. Annoyance mingled with outright insult at Legolas' belief that he could touch her as though she were his property. And more anger – _rage_ at his musical language and the witchcraft it spun on her mind. She was sure he had done it on purpose- sure that it had been some way to steal her away into the night. In Rhûn, things that were beautiful were often also deadly and this Legolas, with his face of carved stone, was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Do you speak Westron?" he asked tentatively, words elongated and slowed as though she were simple or merely a child. His disbelief made her shiver with new insult.

"- _Little_." She acquiesced, pulling her hands again to remind him to release her. "Not big." He did not budge, in fact, the only movement that came from him was from his white blonde hair, fluttering slightly while caught in a weak breeze.

"Legolas take hands." She tried, glaring at him as his mouth twitched at her juvenile sentence structure. "Take hands. _Take ha_ -"

He obeyed her, letting his cool fingers slip away from her person. He lent away at once, eyes unaffected by the light that caused little black dots across her vision the longer she stared up at him. He looked oddly gleeful, proud almost, of her knowledge.

He did not say anything further, only watched her movements as a bird might a desert rodent. His unwavering, unblinking gaze made her uncomfortable and she shifted, hand inching to the knife she had at her side. How infuriating he was, standing with his immense height, peering down at her with child-like curiosity. How strange he made her feel with his unwavering stare. Did he not feel the urge to blink? Did not his eyes grow dry against the gentle breeze?

Her nostrils flared in uncomfortableness.

"I go." She said, arms falling limply to her sides. She would not bother to fight this strange creature, no matter the spell he tried to weave over her mind. Birds called above her head. The time to hunt had passed and she knew she must make haste back to her camp. Guilt gnawed at her stomach. She had failed Karrach again. "I go now."

"No." He said again and she frowned at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "No. You must stay I have to—the animal- to us I- not allow you to kill it." For a moment she forgot about her urge to flee and merely looked up at him in perplexity. Half of his words were lost on her, she did not understand them.

"Not understand." She said, rolling her shoulders at the admission. She did not like to be vulnerable around the silent giant.

He smiled, beautifully and artistically. She supposes that it was meant to dissuade her uneasiness, to let her know that it was alright but the perfectness of the action, the symmetricity of the simple gesture made her hands grow with a nervous sweat. There was something- _not right_ with him. Something did not fit. He looked like a beautiful man, yes. But there was also something odd. She had never seen a man emanate such light. No man had ever been so tall or so pale or so perfect.

 _No **man**_ …

The word _man_ did not seem enough for him.

 _Yes_ , he looked as a man would but there was something in the way he watched her, in the way he held his body so naturally, so freely. There was a gravity to his gaze, it bore down upon her whenever his eyes sought hers. It was uncomfortable. _He_ made her uncomfortable. And yet he had been nothing but- well 'kind' is not the right word. Cordial, perhaps. He had been cordial. He had never harmed her, nor did he look as though he wished to.

She was pulled out of her observations as he raised one long arm to gesture behind her, back to where the beast had been. "That was Êlion. He is-." she shook her head, that last word she did not understand.

"Special?" He tried again and she inclined her head. _Yes._ That she could comprehend. "He is special to my kin. You must not hunt him nor any like him or the forest will turn against you."

Her brows seemed to fall lower over her dark eyes as she worked overtime to grasp his meaning. Someone had said those words to her before. A short man with dark hair and dark eyes and a pale withered face. The King of Dale had warned her brother that they mustn't disturb the forest – that it would turn against them if they did. She hadn't understood what it meant then but now her mind remembered her disorientation on her first night, on the way her bare feet had ached as she walked round and around and around. She thought on Karrach and her strange illness, on the break in her leg and the skin that wouldn't heal. She looked up at Legolas, suspicious and fearful of the pale devil – the witch of the West. What did they know that she and her people didn't?

"I will not hunt." She said, offering the barest of nods before again turning back the way she had come, prepared to leave the giant witch to his own devices if it meant being far from him.

"Daro!" he called.

She recognised the word, understanding that it must mean _wait_ or _stop_ in his tongue. Huffing she turned, already annoyed with the longevity of the conversation. Had she not already said she would not hunt Êlion nor his kind? What did the giant want with her? She shuddered slightly, remembering the way his words had lulled her into false security. She would not let him manipulate her like that again. She was strong. She was Mavali. She was Rhûn.

"What?" she asked rudely and the witch's off-putting eyes widened.

"Where are you going?"

Apranik thought of Karrach, picturing the sheen of sweat covering her friends face. Her stomach twisted. "Back."

The giant stepped forward, impossibly long legs causing his stride to widen to the point that one mere step had already brought him within her personal space. He did not seem to mind her discomfort. In fact, he looked eager to stay by her side.

"I will walk with you."

She bit the inside of her cheek before replying, turning around yet again to begin her journey. " _No_."

She walked unhindered this time, not bothering to look behind her and gauge his reaction. As she crossed the glade her heart eased somewhat. She could not hear him and so assumed he had let her go. She paused at the edge of the clering, looking back to where she had stood and noting with satisfaction to see he was gone. A brief smile stretched her mouth, only to be replaced by a curse as she turned back around. The giant was there. Leaning against the black hide of tree as though he had always been there. His limbs appeared almost _too long_ to be positioned the way they were. If he were a normal man they would lie over one another, tangling awkwardly yet he lent casually and perfectly. The sight made her knees twitch with annoyance. And fear. How had he gotten there without her knowing? He would have passed her surely. She should have _heard_ him.

He held out a pale hand, long fingers stretching towards her. His eyes, blue as the sky above beckoned her forward. She resisted.

"I will walk with you." He repeated.

Apranik shifted her gaze from his eyes to his hand. Instead of replying she brushed past him, determined to ignore his presence as she stopped at a tree, beginning to unwind the first of the string that would lead her back to camp. He dropped his hand, falling into step with her easily, his long legs propelling him along without much thought. Apranik ground her teeth together. She did not want to bring the witch back to her camp. It might not be safe, if her reaction earlier to him had been any indication. The string she re-attached to her belt, however, prevented them from going any other way despite her misgivings on the subject.

She remained tense for the entirety of the walk, glancing suspiciously at the giant who seemed to glide across the floor beside her. He appeared at ease, in direct opposition to the turmoil she felt. He allowed her her personal space and paused politely when she stopped to unwind a piece of string. Often his hand would shoot across towards her, faster than any motion she had ever seen, to shift a thin branch out of her path. She started every time, heart leaping to her throat, hand groping blindly for her knife in panic. He ignored or did not notice her discomfort and whenever her eyes would find his he would smile down at her, softly and inviting. She never retuned the gesture.

Mercifully he left her someway before they even reached her camp and the panic she had felt the entire walk ebbed as he lightly touched her elbow, causing her to spin on the spot. She watched him suspiciously.

Face was impassive as he stared back at her, his head dipped to the side, eyes roaming her person and she felt as though she were laid bare before him.

The stillness of his body was strange and she thought perhaps he would never move again. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing when he bowed suddenly, long body bending fluidly into two.

"Novaer, my Lady." He breathed in a mixture of what she assumed to be his tongue and Westron. She braced herself for the same manipulation as earlier as he straightened his body but it never came. Instead he offered a small smile turned to walk back into the forest, powerful strides removing him from her line of vision in mere seconds.

Almost as if in a daze Apranik walked back to the camp, untying the last of the string absently as her mind thought on the strangeness of the day. Guilt, heavy and sticky, found its way into her gut once more and she grimaced at the thought of having to explain why she had come back to camp empty handed.

Adarbad noticed her immediately, rising from his spot he half jogged his way to where she still lingered by the tree line of the Forest's edge.

"Did you..?" he trailed off, knowing that she would understand as to what he meant to ask. The roughness of the Mavalese he spoke was a welcome change from the smoothness of Legolas' tongue.

She frowned, lips pulling tight as she thought of Êlion. "No, brother."

Adarbad mirrored her expression and she felt his disappointment as though it was tangible. She wished to never see her usually jubilant brother look so again. It pained her. Looking around his hulk she spied Karrach, out of her tent and propped up by a boulder, wrapped in many blankets. Her eyes seemed cloudy and Apranik felt guilt wash over her again. She had failed.

"It will be alright." Adarbad lied, and he tried for a smile, lips twitching up in an effort to make her feel better. The kind gesture did not reach his dark eyes. "Tomorrow will prove more successful, you will-" he paused, glancing behind her. "Where is your bow?"

Apranik blanched, feeling only now the weightlessness of her back. She narrowly avoided cursing. The apology in her eyes grew heavier. "Forgive me. I will go for it now."

She turned before Adarbad could stop her, swallowing loudly at the prospect of entering the forest once more for fear that the intrusive giant would find her once more. Untying the string at her waist she made quick work of looping it around a tree trunk, sighing as she set off. She journeyed for no more than a minute before she came across something entirely strange.

Lying before her on the path was a cloak, so alike in colour of the forest floor that she wouldn't have noticed it had she not stepped on its soft edge. The cloak in itself was not that odd (although other signs of life had been scarce save her pale giant) but what lay upon it gave her pause. The carcasses of three large hares lay between what looked to be a bowl of dark green sludge and strangely enough, her bow. The perfect face of Legolas flashed in her mind and she tensed as she heard his voice.

"Put it into her tea. She will be well."

Somehow she doubted he spoke of the rabbit meat.

His voice seemed to come from everywhere, it surrounded her body and completely overwhelmed it. In panic she whipped around twice (in turn causing the string to wind itself around her body) to find him though he could not be seen. For a moment she thought of leaving his offering and running back to camp and demanding that they leave that strange land.

Rhûn seemed so very, very far away.

Instead, she untangled herself from the string, placing the bowl of paste aside she gathering the edges of the cloak into one hand, carrying it like a large sack. With shaking hands, she grabbed the bowl and stood, not sparing a glance at the wood that housed her giant pest and made her way back to camp.

She thought back to the way she had felt watched her entire duration in this strange forest and wondered if it had been him. Her stomach seemed to twist itself, her throat closing slightly. Had he been watching her this entire time? Was it _not_ mere coincidence then, that he had always seemed to happen upon her? Their first encounter played itself back in her memories, she could almost feel the bark of the tree as she watched him and one like him walk away from her. They had been watching then, hadn't they? Marking her movements and the movements of her people. She felt uncomfortable and fearful all over again.

She stashed the bowl of paste behind a tree, promising herself she would not give it to Karrach and unwilling to explain its appearance to the others though she knew she should. Breaking through the tree line to the show she smiled tightly as she showed Adarbad her catch. He had been happy when she presented it to him, kissing her on the cheek and handing the meats to Larchan and Marrat to prepare. Apranik, too wrapped in her own guilt, missed the way his eyes had turned suspicious as she knelt by Karrach and spoke to her friend.

The meat, though good, did not improve her friend's health and, after the camp had fallen asleep and she had volunteered to stay up with Karrach and keep watch she retrieved the bowl from where she had stashed it and added a spoonful of the sweet smelling gunk to some tea. She had already promised herself she wouldn't and knew it was not wise to trust the giant's paste but she had grown desperate.

"You must drink this." She said, eyeing the sleeping camp and feeling as though she might vomit. With a sickening thought she realised that within her hands she held Karrach's life and death. Should this fail- should Legolas have lied and this make Karrach worse she would be a murderer. Her hands shook and she pulled them back, away from Karrach as she changed her mind. The woman in question, however, had other thoughts and, in a rare moment of strength snatched the cup out of Apranik's hand, sloshing the hot liquid over both of their fingers.

"No, wait- Karrach _don't_ -"

Her words fell on deaf ears.

Karrach tipped the cup back, swallowing the liquid despite its scalding heat.

The woman grimaced at the taste, eyeing Apranik with annoyance.

"Do I look like a mule? That was foul." She paused to yawn. "Next time add a little dried honey to it. It was bitter as dirt."

Apranik smiled nervously, hands rising to pull Karrach's blankets around her and take the now empty cup away. "I am sorry, my sister. Sleep now."

Apranik might have said more had her heart not risen to rest in her throat. She watched, wide eyed and guilty until Karrach drifted off. Her stomach twisted in knots and she resolved not to fall asleep, to watch her friend until she woke- _if_ she woke.

Despite her plans, however, the next conscious thought was a curse as morning light stung her eyes and she realised that she had failed her friend once more. Karrach was probably dead. Wasted away into the night while she, traitor that she was, had slept like a baby. Her stomach knotted again and she breathed shallowly through her mouth. She had to tell Adarbad. She had to tell her mother, as well. Oh, how could she look at Larchan and tell him she had killed his cousin all because she had listened to a pale witch? How stupid she had been! How foolish! How-

"Ai! Karrach!" Larchan's tone was unidentifiable and Apranik sat up slowly, a ghastly image of her friend body ashen and stiff came to mind and she swallowed the bile that rose up her throat. Turning slowly, face slack and pale she gave a start at what she saw.

Larchan knelt by his cousin, handsome face twisted strangely as hope and confusion mingled in his expression but it was not him who held her attention. Karrach was sitting up, away from the boulder, smiling at her cousin as though she had not spent the better part of two weeks gripped by illness. Her skin had lost its green tint and her eyes were clear. Larchan was fretting over her, pulling the blankets aside to look at the skin of her break and yet, when he had tugged the bandages away (much to the tutting annoyance of Karrach) the skin was clean, the wound almost healed. Others had gathered, smiling and happy and so joyful. A song was begun, one that thanked Aiwa for her mercy and thanked her for returning their sister.

Apranik felt sick.

Happiness for her friend and confusion at the pale witch's intentions warred within her and she turned her head back towards the forest, feeling the sear of eyes on her skin the entire time.

"Thank you." She breathed in Westron, hoping that the wind would carry her thanks and that he would somehow, against all odds, hear her.

The feeling of being watched continued on.

* * *

 **Orithil, Fifthteenth day of Ethuil – F.A. 45**

Something niggled at the back of Legolas' mind as he waited for the child to respond. The strangeness of the situation had begun to make him uncomfortable. The lull of mystery and the distraction it would have wrought were pushed aside for the time being in favour of reviewing just how… _odd_ everything was. A child on her own in the middle of Rhovanion? A peculiar child who – here he sniffs the air, two long drags before his nose crinkles – smells strange.

 _Edain_. He had assumed she was Edain but she smelt… _wrong_. Even for men whose hygienic habits were insufficient and lacking when in comparison to the Eldar, she smelt entirely strange. Perhaps he had been walking for far longer than a few days. He looked at her again, struggling to push away the cloud that had permeated his mind for near thirty years – a consistent fog that had dulled his senses to the outside world.

There were memories locked at the back of his head, dormant and depressing he rarely spared them a glance but this child with her strange voice and odd mannerisms that reminded him- that reminded him of-

And her skin- so tan, as though she had spent her entire life in the sun and accumulated it's very scorch. It reminded him of- yet he could not be certain. For she was lighter than any- and of course that retched place could have skin tones of all ranges yet it would not matter as all he had seen had been dark and beautiful and she was not-

Legolas forced himself to look at the girl again, swallowing the bile that threatened to make its way up his windpipe. It would not do well to lay within those memories.

Her body had grown tense, limbs locking around one another as she breathed deeply. His question had made her panic. Legolas waited patiently, loose strands of hair fluttering about his face. The girl gulped, loudly enough for him to hear the sound and he tried to make his body appear smaller than it was, concerned that the child might run if pushed too far. A shaft of light landed briefly over her head and Legolas noted with utter confusion that her eyes were _blue_.

How had he not noticed before? How unobservant he had been since meeting this strange child! Consumed by mystery and malnutrition he had allowed his senses to wane.

 _Legolas, you are sick_ , he thought. But the voice was his father's and he cringed against the word. _Sick_. He had been sick for a while now, and yet he had lingered, close to fading for thirty years. He felt a fool and shame made his toes curl within his shoes.

The colour would have been without question had she been of the local Edain yet, with most things concerning her, things that might have been usual on others, were entirely strange on her person.

Her eyes were too light like her hair, small pupils rimmed by a strange blue, the likeness of which reminded him of- of _someone_ , he did not know who. The occurrence was a shock and he tried, valiantly, not to make any sudden movements that would startle the girl. What was this dark child with bright hair and eyes like deep, foaming sea?

Why was she alone? _How_ had her hair grown so brightly? The blue of her eyes and the quiet gurgle of the river reminded him of the sea. Of blue waves crawling across a golden beach and seagulls crying overhead. The Call rose sharply in him and his mouth twisted in annoyance. Gulls screeched in his mind, the sound mingling with the steady beat of waves to form a cacophony. _Home_. His fingers twitched, dropping the empty waterskin onto his lap. The noise grew steadily until he was no longer aware of the child. His eyes glazed over, the word _home_ repeating itself with rising volume, his mouth shaping the word. The girl hadn't realised he had come into such difficulty, her bright eyes ( _bright as the ocean, bright as home, bright as home home home_ ) had rolled heavenward, hands continuing to twist around one another as she struggled to answer his question. Legolas found himself slipping into a state and he fought against the pull of the waves and the promise of peace and sanctuary. The fight was hard and just as he thought to give up and follow the Call wherever it may take him ( _far, far across the sea to ever green shores and_ -) the girl spoke, her rough voice a beacon of jagged light. Legolas held onto her tones, pulling himself from the false security the Call emanated within him.

"…-en gone for too long. I worry."

Legolas gained control of himself at the end of her speech, eyes wide, a smattering of sweat visible on his brow. The episode had lasted no more than ten seconds yet he felt as if he had battled an entire army of Orcs. The mysteries of the girl were pushed away as he breathed a large ragged breath, his mind only capable of one topic in his stretched and wearied state.

The girl was waiting for him to reply and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "Please," he said quietly, breathing uneven. "Repeat yourself. I was- overcome."

For a moment he thought the girl would grow angry with him, her eyes now shadowed again, narrowed and she huffed in a way that was entirely childlike. "My mother." She said eventually, voice hard. "She brought us here. She said she had friends and told me to stay here while she got them to help but she has been gone for too long." The girl pursed her lips, swallowing as her shadowed face tilted to a point just above Legolas' own.

Legolas fought down the wave of nausea that passed through him. The Call was too strong. It made it hard to focus and yet he found himself bolstering his courage. Here was a child who needed him. An Edain child of mystery, yes. But she _was_ a child. Frightened and alone. Legolas felt a kinship with the strange creature. His memories of his own mother were blurred, faded around the edges from age and disuse. He remembered, though, the pain of the separation and his heart reached out towards the little girl.

"'Friends'?" He echoed, eyes tightening slightly at the word. Was her mother a friend to the elves? Or a friend to the Beornings? Or perhaps the Wild Men?

She shrugged, keeping her gaze steadily just above his own.

"I do not know what she meant." She sounded frustrated and Legolas tore his gaze away from her face to watch her hands begin their nervous dance around one another again. Her discomfort made him forget about the colour of her eyes and her hair. He felt pity for the child, alone in the middle of the woods.

 _But she is_ not _alone_ , he thought, emboldened by her case.

"She will be fine." He said softly, straightening in order to catch her eye. She gave it reluctantly, jaw working under her dark scarf. "The forest is not as it was. She- There _are_ friends here."

The child looked unwilling to believe him. "My mother knew no _edhil_."

The way she said the word…Legolas got the distinct impression that she thought less of him and his kin than she would a scuff of dirt on her small boots. Guilt gnawed at him at the thought that her first impression of him (disabled and seemingly incapable of taking care of himself) had ruined all Elves for her. But, he countered almost immediately, children _are_ fleeting in their emotions. When they found her mother, whom Legolas was beginning to think was probably already with the Guard by now, the child would learn that edhil were in fact kind and good.

"Then she knew the men of the forest?" he asked, the same encouraging smile in place.

The girl shrugged again. "My mother has never been here. I did not understand what she meant but she bade me stay. I obeyed."

Legolas' smile turned pitying and he swallowed, throat suddenly dry. An image of his father, stern face pulled tight in reprimand or request flashed before his eyes. He knew what it meant to obey your parent despite your misgivings.

"How long has she been gone?" he asked.

"Two days."

"Did she go on foot?"

She shook her head. "No. We had a horse but it was tired- it might not have survived the journey."

Legolas' smile fell somewhat at the child's frank observation. The ability of Edain to overlook the suffering of animals- working them to the bone as a means to an end- had never sat well with him. He shifted slightly and did not reply.

"I was going to find her." The girl said suddenly when it was clear he would not reply, blunt nails scratching at the skin of her hand. He did not like the violence of the action. "When I found you. I was trying to find _her_ but I- I thought I was going one way and yet I found myself going another. No matter how many times I tried to turn around. The only time this place made any sense was when I dragged you here."

He was going to reassure her about the forest and its confusions but something else forced its way from his mouth before he could think.

" _You_ dragged me here?" he asked, perplexed. He was heavy. _Far_ too heavy for a child to carry all on her own.

The child looked at him as though he were stupid. "Did you expect me to leave you?"

 _Yes_ , was the honest answer and though Legolas enjoyed being truthful he could not help but remember the girl's disagreeability. It would not do well to insult her again lest they talk themselves in circles because she felt like punishing him. He tried another tactic instead.

"What is your name?"

"What?" she replied quite rudely and again, Legolas opted to not reprimand her.

"Your name." He said patiently, kindly even. "What is it?"

The girl audibly licked her lips beneath the dark cloth and Legolas watched the way in which the material lifted slightly as the action was continued. He thought she might not reply- end the conversation there and bid him good day but she shrugged again, almost as if she didn't care yet when she spoke her voice was tight with a distrustful compliance.

"Arya."

Arr-ya. Arya. _Arya_.

Her name was odd. Odd in the way that was familiar and his heart, already heavy with grief and regret fell lower. He knew- before this, before this day and this night and this strange, strange tiny girl- he knew of others named so. His throat tightened but he forced his next words through his constricted windpipe.

"Well met, Arya." He seemed to wheeze, fighting down a wave of nausea. This was no time to dwell on past grievances. He liked the way her name sounded when spoken. It reminded him of- "I am Legolas."

In a vulgar action she grunted instead of replying, quickly looking away from him once more. Legolas, despairing over her manners, scrambled to find her interest once more.

A thought came to him then, one that was obvious and just and true. One that might offer someone hope and yet, as he looked at Arya who stared not at him –him who offered her kindness in her isolation- but at the ground, completely disinterested in him, he wondered how she of all people would take it. Edain were, at their core, so delightfully unpredictable.

"If you would allow me- I would help you find your mother." He said slowly, forcefulness could startle the girl and he did not want her to turn away- not now that he knew (at least partway) why she was alone.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"You have done a great honour by helping me." She snorted at his words, derisive. He worked hard to reassure her. "I know the forest well," he reasoned, pleading almost. "I could guide you. I will be able to find her far quicker than you would alone."

The girl said nothing yet she watched him was an unnerving steadiness.

"Let me help you. I will repay a debt and feel at ease with having reunited you with your mother."

It only took a moment for the girl to give a quick nod of affirmation.

 **.**

 _She went this way._ Arya had said, pointing vaguely East, back towards his father's Halls. A part of him had clenched at the thought of going anywhere near them. He had hoped desperately that she would guide him as best she could upstream, away from the forest and his kin. He was not ready to face his father's pity.

He had explained that it would, in theory, be a four day walk but that was the minimum, six days would be a more probable estimate. Arya had grimaced, a rather nasty word in a language he had never heard before escaped her mouth and Legolas winced at its grinding syllables. "We will make it in four." She had stated, and Legolas hadn't the heart to tell her otherwise, presuming that she would get tired at some point and relent. And knowing, somewhere, that the Guard would find them far quicker than they would find her mother. The closest outpost's had been moved further East as their number's dwindled. There was no point in exhausting resources when none lived so far from his father's Hall's anymore.

Legolas, still unsteady on his feet but unwilling to show the child his weakness nor indulge in rest, took the pack from her shoulders almost as soon as she had donned it. It was heavier than it looked and though elf-kind, his lack of nourishment and the disorientation of deep sleep had caused his limbs to become uncoordinated. It took him longer than necessary to rearrange a few of its items to be able to close it properly and settle it against his back.

Arya watched him, clearly annoyed but reluctant to bother speaking. In fact, she rarely spoke, he realised and he wondered if that were on purpose or if she simply had nothing to say. Legolas didn't know but he thought that if he were stuck in a strange forest in a land that was clearly not his own he'd have a lot more questions to ask and many more answers to give. Legolas wanted to know where she was from – could almost guess from her colouring – but the thought that she could be the same- _no_ not the same but similar- that she could be –

"Let us go then." She had said roughly, sparing him the barest of looks before turning and walking in the completely wrong direction.

His arm extended, long fingers gripping onto her shoulder. She stilled at the unwanted contact and he felt a moment of regret for being so presumptuous. "You must stay with me at all times, Arya."

She shrugged his hand off, turning back to him in annoyance yet there was a slant to her eye, as though she were also confused. "What?"

He would have to explain to her soon that that was an entirely rude way to ask what someone had said. "We are too far North to take the Elven path and have no boat to bear us down the Forest River yet we will walk along its banks- it will make our journey far quicker. The forest is no longer as it was but we would fare better by being a team."

She said nothing. Had only inclined her head in such as if to say _Well go on then, edhil_. _Show the way_. And show he did. His body felt better when they began their journey. No longer did he walk aimlessly without purpose. A little bit of the fog over his mind lifted and he sighed, allowing Arya to pass him and walk a little in front. He was beginning to realise how difficult she was and how little regard she had for him, an Eldar. If it weren't so insulting Legolas might have found it hilarious.

"Can we walk faster?"

Her sudden speech was startling. It was the first she had spoken in over an hour and Legolas stumbled at her words, righting himself quickly and hoping she had not noticed. She did and she looked highly unimpressed with his new bout of frailty. Embarrassment caused heat to rise along his hairline. Perhaps it was well that they walked towards his father's home. Maybe he _should_ see a healer.

"Faster?" he asked dumbly, eyebrows pulled low over his eyes as he watched her. Shouldn't she be getting tired by now? Their pace had been moderate, what he was used to walking with grown Edain. Usually those as young as she would need rest quite frequently and already they had walked further than he ever thought her capable of in such a short amount of time.

"Yes. Faster. Six days is long in time and she is already two ahead." She paused and then added, quite lowly, "And I want to find her _before_ I am fifty."

Legolas's mouth twitched.

"Are you not… _tired_?" He tried to make his question as casual as possible, wary of annoying her further.

She didn't even bother to look at him. "No."

Legolas watched her carefully, noting the way she walked with ease, the steadiness of her breathing and the fluidness of her movements. For a moment he entertained the notion that he had been so incredibly wrong. That the little thing in front of him was not an Edain child, lost on her own but perhaps like him in mind and body- perhaps- a lost cousin- a Dorwinion, far from home or maybe-

Arya made a quite vile noise at the back of her throat, as though gurgling her own spit as she stopped abruptly, whirling on him in annoyance.

" _Well_?" she demands.

Legolas shakes his head, this wild rude thing could never be his kin.

"Alright." He agrees hefting the pack on his shoulder so that the straps may rest more easily.

Arya nods in satisfaction, beginning her trek again with renewed vigour. Perhaps this foreign untamed thing was merely just more _durable_ than her Western counterparts. He watched her unwavering step as she walked ahead of him. His brow furrows as he follows her.

 **.**

He lets her walk this way for some time, the Forest River gurgling beside them the entire time, longer than he would have thought she be able to handle before he stops their march to rest. Although she seemed reluctant to do so, she (mercifully) followed his ruling, silently filling up the waterskin they shared. She seemed unconcerned with sharing from his mouth and Legolas held back at grimace, wondering when, if ever, she had brushed her teeth. Regardless, he lifted the skin to his mouth countless times, not wanting to be rude and not being bothered to crouch by the river and drink from it himself.

Moonlight glittered off the River, light refracting off of its surface to add an eerie glow to the Forest. He hadn't even noted the passage of time. He offered Arya the water sack and she took it without thanks, turning her back to him to lower the veil of her scarf. He ignored the nosiness of her slurping politely and waited for her to turn back towards him (veil secured around her face again) before he spoke.

"We will rest here for the night." He said, already reaching into the pack to pull a bedroll out for her.

She doesn't protest as he thought she might, instead takes the meagre bedding from him and lays it out silently. She hasn't spoken in hours and Legolas almost misses her rudeness. He finds her new silence disconcerting, worried for how long she has gone without speech.

"Your mother is quite well, I am sure." He tries, long neck stretched forward, keen eyes noting her every movement. Outwardly she doesn't acknowledge his words but it is a beat before she replies.

"Yes," she replies airily, voice uncharacteristically soft. "I am sure."

Her tone is obviously meant to dissuade him from replying but he does so anyway concerned by her sudden moroseness.

"Are you hungry?"

She shakes her head, scarf flying about at the suddenness of the motion. A lock of hair, the same from before unpins itself from under the material. He waits for her to move it but instead she lets it sit, not bothered by its appearance. Legolas is at once enthralled, white blue eyes fixed on the sight. It almost seemed to catch the moonlight, shinning silver under its soft rays.

She doesn't look at him, instead sits for a while, muttering too lowly even for him to understand before lying on her bedroll. She is asleep within moments and Legolas despairs at the thought that he has allowed this little thing to bully him into letting her walk for far longer than she should have. He does not know much about the Edain but he knew enough to understand they needed far more rest than he. He resolves to guide her more slowly tomorrow, mindful of her smallness. He remembers her chubby fingers, young with fat.

Legolas sniffs the air around where she sleeps and confusion makes him huff as he pitches backwards to lie down.

Edain yet… _not_.

 **.**

They set off before dawn the next morning, much to Legolas' annoyance. He didn't know how long she has been awake or _how_ she was able to go and forage for berries without waking him but she had shook him awake, watching emotionlessly as his eyes opened sluggishly. She placed a bowl filled to the brim with berries at his feet before walking away. This time there was no Sloe in sight.

Last night he had not realised how far they had walked yet now he took the time to blink around his surroundings, noting that they were far closer to the westernmost outpost of Mirkwood's guard than he originally thought. They would be upon them soon, he thinks, if not already, watching from the trees at their Prince as he allowed himself to be babied by a baby.

She does not eat and Legolas is too concerned with his closed eyed slumber to bother making her. He got the distinct impression that if he 'made' her do anything it would backfire badly. While he eats she packs their bedrolls away, leaving the pack at his feet for him to carry again. Sitting closer to him than she had at any other time Legolas takes the time to observe her out of the corner of his eye, his sleeping habits will have to wait till later.

Her breathing was quiet and slower than what he thought possible for Edain children. He thinks to Lillian and her babes in Ithilien. Had they breathed so slowly and so quietly? He did not know.

 _What a strange little thing_ , he thinks with pity.

They began their walk again, silence reigned and it wasn't until the sun was high above their heads, reflecting off the glittering water that flowed beside them that he broke their mutual silence.

"Why do you wear your scarf this way?" He asked suddenly, thin fingers reaching down towards her without a second thought. She seemed to blanch, growing incredibly still as he allowed the tips of his pale fingers to brush over the dark material. One of his fingers accidentally skimmed the skin at the corner of her eye. It was entirely rude, he knew, but the draw to uncover the mystery- to see if he had been so incredibly wrong.

As their skin made contact there seemed to be a second of peace, as though one part of his soul had reached hers and both had yielded to each other. Legolas revelled in the feeling, mind instantly alert he felt more himself than he had in a long time. Almost as if- as if-

The moment was ruined however as Arya jerked, tutting in annoyance as she slapped his hand away. He smiled apologetically, pulling his hand back to swing at his side as she turned slowly to face him, eyes vexed. Despite his size and stature her body, tensed as a wild cat, seemed ready to fight. If he hadn't been mourning the loss of that second of peace – what _had_ happened, there? – he might of thought to apologise for his rudeness.

"You are a strange male and I am unmarried." She says, voice hard in a way that an adult would know. "Do not touch it again."

Now it was Legolas' turn to blanch, face forming into one of disgust at the notion of a child as young as she even knowing what- what _that_ was. All notions of moments of peace were forgotten.

"I assure you," he ground out, voice betraying his offense as he spoke before he could think to edit his words. "Unlike Edain, Edhil do not marry their children."

If Legolas thought his offense to be great, the child's went above and beyond. Her eyes widened, almost comically, first in shock and then in rage.

" _I am not a child_!" She spat, leaning forward on the tips of her little toes.

He regretted his misstep almost immediately, rearing back on the balls of his feet at her anger. He wondered, blindly, why she had gotten so upset that he had called her a child.

He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps an apology, or a question. Something that would make her not look at him as though she wished to gut him. Or perhaps something that would allow her to give him another chance – the ache at the loss of that peaceful moment bloomed again and his fëa began to mourn in an unfamiliar way. This loss was a new pain, an odd pain, something strange and awful. It chokes his fëa and makes him desperate for- for _something_. Something-

Legolas hears it a split second after she does.

Her reaction is instantaneous. Despite her anger she positions herself in front of him, her movements swift and sure. If he hadn't been so sick of mind, he might have laughed at the strange picture it would make. A large elf and a small Edain child protecting him. Her bow was already drawn and he got his earlier wish of seeing how she wielded the small weapon. _Easily_ , was his first assessment and _well_ , his second.

"Arya-" he tries but she shushed him before he could speak further and explain. Her eyes are glued to the trees above them and Legolas thinks it so _so_ odd that she could have heard the footfalls of his kin before he did.

"Be _quiet_!" she hisses, and Legolas notes that her voice is tight, strained in panic. She is frightened, he understands with a sudden sadness, panic and nervousness for her state of being makes his hands flex at his sides. "I hear something- I hear- I-"

Thalion is the first to drop, then Bailon, Feren, Githraiel. Soon half the border guard was stood in front of him, the other half, he detected, high in the trees above, arrows trained on the little thing that stood in front of him. Legolas wonders when all of this is over, if Thalion will tease him about his little protector.

Arya had not moved. If anything, Legolas thought she might have jumped but she appeared cool in the face of his kin and he feels a strike of pride.

Legolas allows his eyes to roam over his kin and he realises with a jolt just how much his heart had ached for them. His eyes settle on Thalion ready to give his brother a smile and a thousand apologies but he foud that Thalion wasn't looking at him. In fact, Thalion didn't seem to have moved at all and his eyes were wide with a strange look, unwavering gaze fixed on Arya. Legolas frowned, his brother almost looked… _panicked_. He wondered, with fresh worry, what had happened.

Feren stepped forward cautiously, hands hanging loosely by his sides. His body seemed falsely relaxed, a stance which Legolas was certain had been employed to reassure Arya of their good intentions. Legolas, however, was watching his friend's eyes, noting the lack of surprise in them. So they had found the girl's mother then, he surmised, wishing he could tell the little girl so that she may not be frightened anymore.

Feren's head was cocked to the side and Legolas wondered why he was watching Arya so strangely. Not with the panic of Thalion but something quite close to it.

Legolas' worry doubled.

"Hîr vuin," Feren began, his Sindarin a breath of fresh air on a muggy day. There was relief woven into his voice and Legolas found some of his worry easing only to be replaced with guilt. He almost felt like a child being caught misbehaving. "Mae g'ovannen."

* * *

 **Notes from the author:**

Hi there! Sorry for the long wait. This chapter is a whopping 12,143 words so I hope that makes up for it. I've proof-read it all but let me know if I missed anything. I hope you enjoy and again, I hope you'll forgive me for the slow pacing. Is it believable? Is it ridiculous? Not enough this? Too much of that? Lemme know what you think.

Once again hope you enjoyed and have a lovely week!

Aobh x

 **Explanations:**

Êlion name is a combination of the Sindar word's Êl for Star and Ion for son.

Midad and Kashore are cities in Northern Rhun that I have made up.

Auroch: The Kine of Araw were oxen that lived by the Sea of Rhûn, they were wilder and studier than any other oxen in Middle Earth. The Horn of Gondor, carried by Boromir and cracked at his death, was built from the tusk of one of them by Vorondil the Hunter and passed down through the Stewards of Gondor. Legends say that the Kine were descended from the cattle of the Valar, Oromë (Araw being the Sindarin name for Oromë). It is believed that they are connected to, or perhaps even modelled after what we call _Auroch_ \- Giant Oxen that lived until 1672. However, as Kine of Araw is a Sindarin name for them and therefore a Western name, I believed that they would instead be called something else in Rhûn and I therefore went for our name for them.

 **Translations:**

"Bi sho'oor kosefil!" – Persian - Bi sho'oor: No brained/idiot  
Kosefil: elephant's vagina

"Daiwas!" – Proto-Indo-Iranian- Devil

"Daiwas hacā Umba-" –Devil of Umbar

"Novaer, my lady." – Sindarin – Farewell, my lady.

"Goheno nin, sedho. Le nuitha. Im ava- an ngell nîn sedho, Apra-" – Sindarin

Literal: Sorry/Forgive me. Be still. You not allowed to continue. I will not- please, be still Apranik.

"Apranik, û. Av-'osto. Sedho! Le *thel tog naeg. Ni thel le û naeg." – Sindarin

Literal: Apranik, no. Do not be afraid. Be still! You will bring pain. I mean you no pain.

"Hîr vuin," – Sindarin – My lord

"Mae g'ovannen." – Sindarin – Well met.

*From what I can tell 'will' in Sindarin, when a verb, is Thel. Someone correct me if I'm horribly wrong.


	4. Tentative Allies

CHAPTER FOUR  
Tentative Allies

* * *

 **Oranor, Forty-ninth day of Iavas, F.A. 15**

"No. Beech. Beee- _ch_."

"Be _ee_ -TCh."

"Almost."

Apranik resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What did it matter what kind of tree it was? She couldn't care less. The willowy thing was completely irrelevant to her or her plight yet Legolas had _insisted_.

She was beginning to realise that _insistence_ was a dominating character trait for the man-thing.

She had not seen him for three days after he had given her the paste to heal Karrach. Happy that Karrach was improving and joyed by the prospect that they would soon be gone from the edge of this forest she slept peacefully for those three nights. Her bliss lasted exactly three hours into the third day when Legolas had cornered her after she had bathed and _insisted_ she follow him. Unwilling to say no after he had healed her friend and admittedly curious as to his nature and intentions she had walked beside him cautiously. When they had gone a few paces she unhooked the twine at her waist, remembering the confusion of the forest with apprehension.

"You will not need your-." He had said, gesturing to the twine at her belt, barely sparing her a side glance.

The last word was a strange mash of sounds that closed her throat at the end and she tried to mimic the sounds under her breath as they walked.

String.

 _Striiing_?

He did not take her far, which she was thankful for. Though appreciative for Karrach's miraculous recovery, much about the strange giant was a mystery. Did he live there? Was he alone? How did he always seem to know where she was? Was he following her? Did he speak to any of her tribe as he did to her?

The last concern left her with a bad taste in her mouth. If he talked to her tribesmen and women, did he do the same with his voice as he did to her? Was he manipulating them? If he was, then perhaps this was all just one long game to him. As she walked beside him, she watched his gentle steps and calm face. He did not seem like the time to play games with other people but Apranik was no fool. She fingered the knife at her hip, allowing the weathered pads of her fingers to glide over the blade, eyes trained on the side of Legolas' face.

Their walk crawled to a gentle stop. They were close enough to the forest's edge that the grey trees were sparse, allowing the light of the cold morning sun to trickle down from the thin canopy. Legolas tipped his head back, basking in the weak heat of the sunlight. His golden hair was straight down his back, free of braids. A couple of shining strands flew about his head caught in a gentle breeze. She watched him silently, leaning back against the trunk of one of the thin grey trees.

Rhovanion grew cooler each day and Apranik, in the silence left by Legolas enjoying the sun, found herself rekindling an old worry that their delay in the woods would keep them there too far into winter for them to leave before the new year. Being stuck at the bottom of the wood without proper supplies scared her; they had not the provisions for winter. Their blankets were thin, barely durable for a Western cold and they had not the knowledge to work the land for food should theirs run out. They had intended to reach Gondor far before the changing of seasons and gather supplies there. Apranik sighed, frustration twisting her features into one of exasperation at her situation.

Leoglas turned at her sigh, bright eyes watching her closely. He walked backwards, mimicking her stance to lean against another grey coloured tree with a long skinny trunk and thin, sooty limbs. His movement offered no respite to the silence between them, seemingly content to stare at her. Around their two forms the forest creaked and moaned with sounds of life. Apranik shifted against the rough bark of the tree, uncomfortable with the way he looked at her.

"No _watch_ me so." She muttered, eyes darting from his face to the tree behind him and back again. "Do you not need to-"

Here she paused to make an opening and closing motion with her hands and then pointed to her eyes.

Legolas cocked his head to the side, his face blank save for a slight quirk of confusion to his full lips as he watched her strange hand motions. When he did not reply straight away Apranik dropped her hands, huffing slightly.

" _Blink_." He said in Westron after an extended pause.

Apranik blinked three times, making the actions slow and exaggerated, pointing a finger at her dark orbs. Legolas nodded, equally slow, looking first to her and then away to the right at the darkening forest as the trees grew more dense. He seemed preoccupied.

"Yes. Blink." he replied quietly.

She had no idea what possessed her, but the word, curled into an apprehensive question was out of her mouth before she even realised. "Blin _n_ nk?"

Legolas's head snapped to hers in an instant, though his body remained facing the heart of the forest. One of his thick eyebrows twitched and he gave her a funny look, pointing to his bright blue eyes with the strange lights behind them. He blinked, three times like she had done before teaching her again.

"Blink."

And so it had started.

After she had mastered the word for wetting your own eyes, Legolas began pointing at foreign things and foreign objects and would say their names. He started with his appendages and slowly she learnt the Western names for hands and feet and _arrrms_. Though, perhaps, too slowly for the giant man for she would often see his eyebrow twitch out of the corner of her eye, yet when she turned to him to see if she had annoyed him, his face had already taken on its impassive state once more. This new emotionless Legolas was a far cry from the startled, wide eyed expressions and apologetic mouth curls of their time in the glade. Apranik didn't know what she preferred, the aloofness of this early morning Legolas or the expressively strange Legolas who brought her bizarre smelling pastes and spoke musical, mind warping words to her.

Occasionally he would talk to her in the foul sounding Westron. Long-winded sentences as he tried to explain this or that. She would merely shrug muttering a half-hearted "Not know." To which he had corrected her many times ("It is ' _I do not know_ ', Apranik.") By the time the sun had reached its apex in the sky she had learned how to count to five (three, really) and correctly and systematically butchered the pronunciation of five types of berries.

After a while their impromptu lesson petered out and Apranik felt a little guilty for wasting her time learning about the strange forest and not gathering information of her even stranger guide. Thinking of Legolas, he was watching her again, she could feel the heat of his eyes on her neck, her arms, her face. So heavy was his stare that it felt like a whole host watched her instead of just one man; she shivered slightly at the feeling. It wasn't pleasant, the way he stared. As if he did not understand. As if she were something to be observed.

She turned to him with determination, forcing herself to look into his unsettling eyes.

"Legolas from Dale?" she asked, gesturing with a blind hand in the vague direction of what she believed to be East but was in actuality, South.

He did not move. "No."

Apranik opened her mouth to ask where, then, but he spoke before she could even begin to form a word.

"It is 'Are you from Dale, Legolas?'" he corrected. He smiled softly, encouraging her to repeat what he had said with a wave of his hand.

Apranik sighed. Tongue twisting in her mouth as she sounded out the words in her head before attempting to (embarrassingly) parrot them back to the giant.

"Ar _rr_ you from Dale, Legolas?"

He made no vocal correction so she repeated the statement twice more. He nodded when she was done, his smile widening into a grin. Though he did not show say it, Apranik got the distinct impression that the giant witch was pleased with himself.

"No." he said again after a while, his smile fading somewhat. He pushed away from the bulk of the grey tree with a soft shoed foot. "I am not from Dale, Apranik. I am from here. Rhovanion is my home."

Apranik frowned, rough fingers tapping against her skirted leg. She did not know the Western word for 'alone' and so she sorted through what little she knew to form a juvenile sentence.

"You- one?" she asked, using her newly acquired knowledge of western numbers.

At this he huffed a soft sound. If Apranik didn't know any better, she might have thought it to be a laugh. His full lips quirked upwards again, forming a short-lived but genuine smile. "No. Many."

She hummed, looking down. In the space of time it took her to look back he had slid closer, his tall frame crowding her. She bristled at the close proximity he pushed on her and the fact that she _just hadn't heard him move_. He moved like a predator. The comparison allowed an uneasy weight to settle in her gut as she craned her neck to look up at him, sun shining around his head like a gold halo. How could something so beautiful be so…peculiar?

"Like you?" she asked.

Legolas looked at her strangely, dark blonde eyebrows lowering slightly over eyes that, even in the shade his head created, still shone with an unlawful brightness.

"…yes." He replied slowly, tone indiscernible. "Like me."

The thought that there were more of him made her gut clench painfully and she took a step away from him. Though he had not shown her any harm, the way his words had made her feel still hung heavily in her mind. He had taken her autonomy from her- made her feel something different to what she _wanted_ to feel. If there were more of him- more beautiful creatures who could enchant her people's minds and make them- and make them- what? She still had no idea what he had been trying to do that day in the glade.

Apart from the strange sway she had felt at his words well- he seemed _harmless_. Strange and large but harmless nonetheless. Once again she remembered the words from the short King of the dirty town by the lake. He had warned them not to dwell in the forest. In fact- he had warned them not to go anywhere near it. Perhaps Legolas and his kin were the ones they had been warned about. As he stared down at her with an intensity that made her skin prickle, she wondered, not for the first time, if they had made a mistake in not heading the Lake King's words.

She wanted to ask him if he had meant it – to make her lose herself in his words as though she were being overcome. It would not leave her – the feeling of not being in control. The Mavali had faced many foes; many men had come and tried to break them but men were ultimately weak. They could attack the flesh but the soul would remain. When Legolas had spoken to her he attacked not the flesh, but the _soul_. The thought of something twisting her from the inside out made Apranik feel sick with worry. It had lasted for a moment at most but the fear still gnawed away at her abdomen.

Her thoughts flew suddenly to her brother and whether she should tell Adarbad about her new 'friend'. Maybe if she just-

"Apranik?"

She started at the sound of her name. Looking up she found Legolas watching her the same as he had before, intensively and without much emotion. She realised he must have been speaking.

"Sorry." She said, stepping back and away from him again.

' _Sorry'_ had been one of the first words she'd learned of Westron. Very early on they had been counselled that in the West many offences could be taken. The Western people were less free than the Mavali. They had many rules, many regulations. _Sorry_ , she had been told, would be a word she would use often.

"What spoke?" she asked, her dark eyes narrowed slightly.

He shook his head. "What did you say, Legolas?" he corrected.

She sighed, repeating it back to him three times before he was satisfied enough to answer.

"I asked what was wrong with you."

Though usually not one for caring what was perceived as rude or not, Apranik thought it best not to try to explain that she had been thinking of his nature and whether he was good or evil.

"I think on how long we stay in here." She cleared her throat, gesturing around herself. "In Rhovanion."

There was no change in Legolas' expression and Apranik found herself growing even more uncomfortable under the emotionless judgement.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Gondor." She replied, shoulders hunching against a breeze, repeating the line that all Mavali had learned to say. "We come to the call of their King."

Legolas seemed to tense at her mention of the Western King, eyes narrowing at her less than respectful pronunciation of the royal title.

"King Elessar?" he asked, uncertainty twisting his mouth into a frown. He seemed to loom over her, body hunching as if he wished to close the gap between their bodies. Apranik took another jerky step back.

"…Yes. We have- how you say? Summons. But-" she debated not mentioning Karrach though it was obvious that the man-witch already knew of her ailment. "Karrach will not walk and it is cold. We think much on we will be long stay here."

Legolas nodded at her words, his body stiff as he loomed over her. The furrow in his brow deepened Apranik noted though whether that was from her awkward sentence structure or her words, she knew not.

"The bone broke the- _skin_." Legolas gestured to his arm, tugging at his skin and Apranik nodded in understanding of the new word. "It will take her much time to get well."

Apranik's lips pursed, worry tugging her eyebrows low as she slithered another inch back from him. "We have not things for cold."

"It is Iavas – It will not-" he paused, glanced away towards the forest and then back to her with a sigh. "It will be this cold for much time. No change. The same."

Having to speak in broken Westron so that she might understand seemed to pain him and Apranik, though slightly embarrassed, felt an acute sense of pride, almost as if she had won a game she had been unaware they were playing.

Apranik felt a little better at the prospect of the weather staying this way for a while. It might mean that their journey could be completed before the white ice they called 'snow', fell.

"Why do you go to Gondor?" he asked suddenly, breaking her out of her train of thought. He had straightened while she thought, back to his full height and she stopped her slow progression away from him in response.

Confused at the question she struggled to put the words together to form a Western sentence.

"Long before- King in the West come to Kashore. He and another King, a lesser King, help to us drive darkness from Rhun and offered land and safe live."

"That was years past." He murmured, watching her strangely. "Why come now?"

It _was_ years past. Twenty or so. She couldn't remember. She had been young when the war was won.

Apranik paused, unsure of whether to tell him the truth. He waited patiently, keen eyes surveying her as she struggled with her first instinct to keep the truth to herself.

Eventually she relented, reasoning that it was not important information – he could not use it against her. "Darkness has returned to Rhun. It grows slowly but it is there. No longer safe for Mavali. We come to warn the King."

"Mavali?"

She sighed, pointing to her chest and gestering vaguely back towards where he had accosted her. "We. All. We all Mavali."

"You are not many." Legolas said softly.

Apranik did not quite understand what he meant at first but the way his voice had twisted around the word, half pity and half curious allowed her to grasp at his meaning. She was quiet for some time and a sadness settled in her throat, constricting her words.

"No. Many stay. Many do not come."

A brief look of sympathy passed over Legolas's face and Apranik found herself grateful for the small, seemingly human reaction from this strange witch.

"Where are you?"

Legolas cocked his head to the side, mouth pursing in confusion.

"I am here." He said, but his words were slow. As though he suddenly thought of her as impaired.

Apranik sighed, clasping her hands together as tried, again, to find the words. "The many like you. Same. Like you. Where are you? Where are?"

The faintest of smiles tipped the corner of his mouth up and he nodded to the right of her, yellow hair falling into his face from the action.

"Where are 'they'?" he intoned, gaze still bound to the right. With his eyes focusing elsewhere Aparanik felt momentarily free of his heavy stare. What weight had been around her shoulders under his scrutiny lifted momentarily. She mouthed the word 'they' silently, touching the tip of her tounge to the roof of her mouth repeatedly until it unstuck naturally to form the word.

"They are East," he mummured, eyes still faraway. "They-"

He glanced back to her, eyes narrowed. "They do not know I am here."

She started, blinking in confusion. He was here alone? Why? For what purpose?

Never one to shy from the truth, she opened her mouth to ask him once and for all what he was doing- what he wanted, but he beat her to it. He moved again, long legs striding forward silently to deposit him right in front of her. Again, he loomed over her, crowding the space she had retreated to. The weight on her shoulders returned and she gulped despite herself. His movements were too swift and fluid, they set her on edge.

He stared down with the same dispassion he had exuded throughout the day.

"I must go for two weeks." He said.

If Apranik had known him better she might have said there was a hint of apology in his neutral voice. But she did not know him better. In fact, she did not know him at all.

"Where go?"

He did not correct her. Instead he turned his head to her right once more, looking into the thickening trees. His eyes were distant and large. Apranik fiddled with her skirts.

"Home. I go home."

She thought this to be a good thing. If he was back with his kin then he would spend less time stalking her camp and yet Apranik could not shake the sudden feeling that the wood would seem far bigger and far scarier without her impromptu guide and the reassurance of his heavy gaze.

He turned to her again, head cocked to the side. Yes it would be good for him to be gone but a lingering curiosity kindled within her chest. Who was his kin? Were they a tribe of witches? What was their alignment? What did he want with her? With her beloved Mavali? His mystery was great. As was his seeming…kindness. No harm had come to her. No harm had come to any of her kin. Instead of harm he had done the opposite. He had healed Karrach. He had taught her new words. He had _guided_ her.

"Legolas return?" she shook her head, trying to put the words in the right order. "You return? _Will_ you return?" she asked, suddenly surprising herself at her boldness to uncover his truth.

His eyes glowed in the shade of the cold Western sun. "Perhaps."

 **.**

Two weeks to the day Legolas found himself back at the edge of the Mavali camp, deceit in his heart and determination forcing his feet to attach themselves to the ground. The shame welled up in his chest, bubbling into his throat until he felt as though he'd never take another breath until he apologised to his kingdom for lying to them.

He had ridden day and night to reach the camp in time. In time for what, he could not be sure, but his desire to see them once more had flared to the point where he could not ignore it any longer.

This Mavali. These eastern strangers who were peaceful and joyful. His fascination bordered on obsession. His father's Halls held great comfort and warmth but here is where his thoughts had strayed to throughout his stay at home. The King bade him stay longer yet Legolas had refused, stumbling over lies to convince his father to let him travel to the Glittering Caves when in fact his destination had lay far closer to home.

The Mavali were settling down for rest. A male with short, tightly curled hair fed Karrach, smiling as he did so, making noises one might to feed a child. Karrach frowned at him often, battling his hands away as he laughed at her. Tents, shoddily built and of thin material had been erected and many of the people chose to sleep in them rather than out in the open. The Eldar scarcely had any perceptions of temperature outside of extremes so he could not gauge how cold it would be to one of the strangers.

Adarbad walked amongst his people, the small child that Aminata had tended to cradled in his arms. Legolas could hear the child's snuffling snores from where he stood and he smiled briefly. His fingers nervously tapped against the bark of a tilting oak. Go to Gimli, his head bade him. Go to your friend and correct a lie that you have told your father. Go to Gimli. Go to Gimli. Go to-

Apranik laughed, somewhere in the middle of the group. The sound was coarse and grating and all thoughts of Gimli left Legolas' mind. He focused on her, watching the way her lips rose and fell as she animatedly told one of her people a story. He wondered if it was about him.

She did not trust him, that much was clear. Yet she had followed him, not two weeks before. She had listened as he had taught her. He felt some need- some wish to convince her that he was trustworthy. That this Western land could be her home, if she should let it. He wanted her to feel comfortable around him. She laughed again and he found himself smiling at her joy. He wanted her to be happy.

Though why? Why this strange, rude woman from the East? He had felled many of her fellow easterners in the Great War. Why should he care for her sensibilities? Perhaps it was because he knew the way of men in Gondor. Even in Ithilien, they would scorn the Mavali. They would not see what he saw, which was a fascinating people with all new customs and a strange light that covers all they do. And what of their land? What fresh hell had reared its head in the abandoned east?

When he focuses again on the people, Apranik is standing. Adarbad speaks to her at the edge of the camp, whispering lowly and gesturing towards Karrach. Apranik shrugs and Adarbad's face twists in annoyance. He forgets the young babe in his arms and raises his voice. The child stirs, the beginning of a wail in her throat. Apranik ignores his words to smooth a hand down the child's head, whispering soothing words until she has again fallen back to sleep. Adarbad rolls his eyes at her sweet actions and with bitter words stalks back to camp, ducking into one of the tents without a backwards glance at his sister.

Apranik sighs, hands fiddling with her skirts in an action Legolas has come to associate with her being nervous. She glances his way, scanning the tree-line for what, he does not know. She turns from the camp, swinging on her left ankle and stalks into the thickening trees of the forest. After a beat, Legolas follows.

He catches up to her in no time. She is loud and breathes heavily and her long skirts pull at the undergrowth so violently that Legolas wonders if the material might give way and tear.

He knows that he will startle her. Perhaps she may even shout but the camp was far behind them. They would not hear her.

"Apranik." He says her name quietly in an effort to placate her fright but she jumps, mid-stride and pitched forward, tripping over her skirts. Despite his want to see if she is well, he refrains from going to her, lest she take it as a threat.

She huffs, pulling at her skirts to untangle them as she struggles to a standing position. When she turns, there is no fright. In fact, there is little surprise in her eyes. Only annoyance.

" _You_."

She sounds like she is accusing him of something and Legolas tilts his head in apology.

"My apologies, my Lady. I did not mean-"

"I thought you would be more days. Not so soon did I think I would see you."

Something has changed in the way she regarded him. A leaf, browning in some places as Iavas settled, hung precariously from one of her locks and hung limply against her dark hair. Her wording was awkward but improved. Had she been practicing?

He opened his mouth to explain to her why he was here so soon but she held up a hand. Her palms, curiously, were not as dark as her skin. Scratched pale flesh greeted him and he felt another stab of pain for having startled her so greatly that she caused herself harm.

"What is Legolas?" she asked suddenly.

Ah. Perhaps she _hadn't_ been practicing. Legolas felt his eyebrows come together in a frown. What did she mean?

"What is Legoals and many? What is _you_?" her hands settled on her hips, seemingly determined to continue with her line of questioning.

"Are." He murmured, watching her carefully. "What _are_ you?"

She rolled her eyes at the correction. "What a _rrrr_ e you, Legolas?"

Pursing his lips, he sighed. Middle Earth had known the presence of Edhil since before the second-born had been created. It was rare to find a man who did not know of them, impossible even. But here was one Edain who seemingly knew nothing of him or his kin. How do you explain to someone who can barely understand a sentence that you are not the same as her? "Edhil."

"What _arrrre_ Edhil?" came the inevitable question.

"Elves." He repeated in the common tongue, watching carefully for her reaction.

"E _l_ -ves?" she frowned, unfamiliarity twisting the word until the _l_ was elongated and the _s_ was shorted.

He nodded, knowing that he could not explain what he was to her with her limited knowledge of Westron.

She grew silent at this new information. Teeth bothering her bottom lip, hands fiddling with her skirts.

"Not witch?" she asked and Legolas knew his confusion had already twisted his face. How did she know the word for witch and not the word for Elf?

"Witch?"

"Yes. _You_ _arr_ - _e_ not a witch?"

Legolas huffed a startled laugh, it bubbled from his chest unbidden and confused.

"No, I am not a witch."

Apranik grew silent again, not swayed by his laughter nor his truth.

"Legolas safe?" she whispered suddenly, long legs starting with a jolt. She was before him in an instance. Her strange smell, of spices and heat and a never-setting sun filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply at her freely given proximity. Though tall for an Edain, she was considerably shorter than him and her slim, dark neck tilted up at an angle that he was sure was uncomfortable. She seemed determined, however, despite the pain, to look him in the eye. "Does Legolas harm Mavali?"

She was so serious. Hands fiddling with the gold overlay of her skirts, eyes strong and true. He thought it perhaps not the best of times to tell her of the redundancy of saying his name when in fact she could have just said 'you'.

He inclined his head. "I do not mean you, nor the Mavali any harm, Apranik."

At his voice her eyes fluttered slightly, relief smoothing her seriousness to determination.

"Then teach." She said, after a moment, offering him the barest of smiles. "Teach me more."

Legolas' chest swelled, guilt and shame forgotten as he returned her beautiful smile. He nodded, even going as far as to bow slightly in promise. The Glittering Caves and the constant stream of crying gulls both distant thoughts as he committed her face and smile to a memory that would last for eternity.

* * *

 **Orgalahad, Sixeenth day of Ethuil – F.A. 45**

Feren was having a bad week.

In fact, if anyone ever bothered to ask him anything other than inquiries on Mirkwood's borders, they would know he had been having a rather lousy thirty years and all that lousiness seemed to come to a spectacular head on the fifteenth of Ethuil.

Despite the fact that it had been Eithillim's fault that the Prince had wandered off into non-existence, Feren had still ended up being the one to endure the full wrath of their King for the transgression.

After being verbally wounded for the loss of the eldest Prince for the better part of four hours, a section of the Guard had been deployed and everyone in the Kingdom had been put on high alert. They had only gotten so far, though, before half had had to turn back.

A woman, half dead, had been found being dragged by a stead just past the outer Talans.

The beast, snout veiled by gold cloth and with golden cuffs around each of its hooves, had been nearly dead herself. Thalion stilled at her arrival, words sticking in his throat. The Guard had bristled, aiming for the mystery woman's dark head but Thalion made a noise at the back of his throat, a strangled cry and ran to her. Galion hushed the beast as it reared back in fear, nearly crushing the woman and Thalion beneath its jewelled hooves.

The Prince tended to the woman with a care Feren had never seen from before. He whispered to her, smoothed her hair, fretted over her cuts and bruises as the Guard watched on perplexed. Thalion had no large love for the Edain. _Passing fancies_ , Legolas had once said when they talked of his brothers opinion on them. Yet here Thalion knelt, barely touching this dark Edain for fear he may cause her more harm.

Feren had optioned to leave her some food, some water, so that when she woke she may replenish herself and be on her way but Thalion had cut him off, and ordered that Lethuin, Bailon and a few others bring the woman and the steed back to the Halls for healing.

"We must find my brother," he had said. "We must find him _**now**_."

But as the hours ticked by Thalion grew more and more desperate. Galion counselled him often but the Prince would not slow or stop. Feren was not privy to the why so he followed his prince's journey obediently.

When they smelled Legolas it had been a relief. Large amounts of rest was not needed by elves but even they had grown weary. Feren had thought that it was over. They could all go home and forget this had ever happened but something small and decidedly annoying wouldn't allow that to happen.

A child, small and young with fat now stood before him. The top half of their face was obscured by a hood and the bottom by a scarf until the only hints of skin were a soft brown around their eyes and slivers of dull blue of their irises. Legolas stood behind the little thing, face drawn and eye sunken and Feren felt a deep sympathy for his prince and friend. The years had not been good to him. Grief had stripped him of him of everything.

He could feel Thalion beside him, vibrating with a nervous energy that put Feren on edge. Raising his hands at the child's trained bow he smiled, though he thought the action to be strained, even for him.

"Hîr vuin," Feren said slowly, falsifying his voice as to dissuade the child's mistrust. "Mae g'ovannen."

Legolas seemed as anxious as his brother. He smiled, skin of his lips cracking against their dryness. When he spoke it was in Westron and seemed as though he ignored Feren altogether.

"Arya," he said, crouching beside the child. His joints popped in protest at the action and Feren held back a wince at the crude sound. "Arya it is alright. They are Edhil. Like me. Put down your bow."

The child didn't move, not an inch. In fact, Feren wondered if she even still breathed. Above him Galion shifted slightly, a sound so quiet even he struggled to hear and yet the child started out of shock. Rearing back to point her bow at the trees above.

" _Where is my mother_?"

Thalion stepped forward, suddenly and without much care and the child shifted again, training her bow onto him. In response Thalion dropped his, an action that had Feren's head snapping to the side. Of course the child could not harm them, even if she tried but it was the _principle_ of the matter.

" _Hîr vu_ -" he started in reproach.

"Your mother is safe." Thalion sounded strange, even to Feren's ears. His voice was strangled, hands clenching and unclenching periodically as they lay at his sides. He was nervous. _Frightened_. Feren turned back to watch the child with renewed suspicion. What could this plump little thing have done to frighten his prince?

The child didn't move at Thalion's words. Arya, Legolas had called her.

"Your mother is safe." Thalion repeated, dropping to a crouch just as Legolas had done. "We mean you no harm."

A gentle breeze rolled towards them and Feren wrinkled his nose at the child's smell. She smelled strange. Odd. Not unpleasant, per say, though he knew without a doubt that she needed a bath. Odd. Very odd.

"Do you lie?"

Feren watched the exchange with confusion, noting her rough accent. A quick glance up and Eithillim noted that he seemed to be as perplexed as Feren was.

"Thalion would not lie, little one. Your mother is safe if he has said it."

Feren counted to five as Arya debated Legolas' words, her hands, which only seconds before had been so steady began to shake until eventually she had lowered her bow to her side.

"You will take me to her." She demanded.

Feren bristled at her tone. He lowered his arms, conscious of the fact that this was still a foreign Edain in their lands and so close to the Halls at that. "You will mind your ton-"

"Yes." Thalion said, standing from his crouch. His eyes jerked from the child to his brother and back again in quick succession. Arya, placated from his simple response nodded, stepping aside from Legolas. Feren thought it so very strange that she had amassed a position to shield an elf twice times her size and tens of times her strength.

"He is sick." She said, pointing a chubby, gloved finger to Legolas.

Feren wanted to laugh and cry at the same time but the child was already walking towards Thalion with quick, measured steps. Legolas watched the child walk away from him with the strangest expression. Feren had no word for it, for it resembled nothing he had ever seen on his friends face before. Arya paid Legolas no mind. In fact, she seemed to be thinly ignoring him and all the guard as she walked towards and then past Thalion to prop herself up against an old oak, away from the group of ellon.

The whole exchange was entirely odd and he couldn't help but feel as though he were _missing_ something.

Thalion walked towards his brother, whistling once for the guard's in the trees to lower their weapons and again for them to come down. Galion was the first, bow already strapped to his back as he followed Thalion to Legolas, medicinal pack in hand. Then came the other four, careful to give the child a wide berth as she watched them from under her thin hood.

She looked ridiculous, Feren thought, watching her out of the corner of his eye, like a babe who had dressed in her father's clothes. The weapons on her waist may as well have been fake for all of the use she probably had of them. The bow, though, she could at least hold well, though her stance lacked discipline and if she had ever launched an arrow it would have faltered before ever hitting a target.

It was strange to see a child covered so, it set Feren on edge. He wondered why the two Prince's thought it imperative to help this she-child and her mother. Since when had the guardians of the Greenwood cared for the affairs of the Edain? Other than, perhaps the Woodsmen or the men from Laketown. He looked to Legolas, gaunt and waving a dry hand with brittle and broken nails at Galion as if to ward his services off. Here, he thought sadly, was the price paid by all elves who 'helped' humans.

Galion's face was hard, though perhaps not out of impassive to human eyes, Feren knew well the slant to his brow and the tightness to his lips. He was frustrated with his Crowned Prince. Thalion, nerves seemingly still shot to nonexistence held a similar expression as her murmured pleadingly for his brother to accept help.

Legolas eventually conceded, while the guard tried their best to look as though they weren't staring. Whether he gave in due to his brother's low, pleading words or his exhaustion, Feren knew not. Though, as he watched Legolas' shoulders dip low and a sheen of perspiration sweep its way over his brow he thought his change of mind was helped by the latter. Galion's relief (and the relief of the guard) was palpable and he set to work with gusto.

While Galion tried his hardest to assess the crowned prince, Feren watched Thalion divide his attention between concern for his brother and seeming panic as Arya watched them all silently from beneath her hood. Legolas, too, had eyes only for the small child, continuously pushing Galion from his eyesight so that his view of her may not be blocked.

"You must dri- you must _drink_." Galion was murmuring firmly, over and over again, trying in vain to push the mouthpiece of a water skin, filled with what Feren knew to be a foul-tasting healing tonic, into Legolas' mouth. Feren's nose scrunched from displeasure as the smell of the concoction wafted over to him, feeling his sympathy double again for his prince. Legolas shook his head, dry, unwashed hair flapping about his face stiffly.

"Dín naneth?" He asked in Sindarin, pulling Thalion's attention away from the girl. If he had kept his gaze on her he might have seen the way the girl's head tilted at the words, head cocking as if- well, Feren reasoned, as if she almost understood. He noted the way her body moved slightly. Like all Edain she was unable to keep her emotional reactions from minutely effecting her face and body. "Na hen vae?"

"Thand," Thalion answered. "Peden maw. Naneth a iell-"

He paused, words seeming to become stuck in his throat. His eyes quickly flitting to the girl who was had grown tense, limbs locking in place as she tried to her hardest to look as calm as she had moments before. Feren's eyes narrowed, an idea forming.

"-nath aderthar." Thalion tried for a smile to reassure Legolas but Feren thought it to more closely resemble an uncomfortable twitch.

Legolas, of course, did not notice, eyes still searching around Galion for the child. Feren kept his gaze on her. Even as she seemed to relax when Thalion had stopped talking, back slumping against the tree trunk, indifference settling back over her disinterested body. She spared Legolas only a fleeting bout of attention, eyes barely settling on him before turning her hooded head to observe the other guard members who were trying, without much success, to either look as though they weren't eavesdropping in on their prince's conversation or ogle the new specimen of Arya the Edain who smelled slightly wrong.

Galion gave a small grunt of approval that pulled Feren's attention back to Legolas. The ellon had successfully managed to shove the mouth of the waterskin past Legolas' lips and wasted no time in tipping the pack backwards. When Legolas twitched in protest Galion's other hand rose, forefinger and thumb pinching over Legolas' nose to block his airway and ensure he drank the rest. Legolas struggled like an elfling and Thalion managed to stop fretting long enough to roll his eyes at his elder brother's antics.

"Can we go now? Is he well?" Arya asked suddenly, interrupting the silence, chin jutting to Legolas. Feren felt his annoyance rise at her rudeness.

Legolas paused in his childish refusals and Tthe brief respite from being fought allowed Galion to assess him more thoroughly, pulling on his arms and quietly tutting at the dullness of Legolas' fingernails. He murmured something to himself and shook his head. Legolas took this as his cue to escape. Using Galion the elder Prince hauled himself into an unsteady standing position. He swayed uneasily for a moment before stealing himself against the wave of what appeared to be nausea.

"I am well-"

"Hir _nin_." Galion interrupted, mouth twitching as Legolas pushed at his hands while he tried to stabilise him.

"I am in her a debt." Legolas stated, rising to his true height, a shadow of his former strength bringing a spark to his dull eyes. "Gin pul-tan-i lend. Iesten, Thalion."

Thalion sighed and shot a indiscernible look to Arya. The girl lent forward from the tree, hands tightening at her sides.

"Yes. We will go now." Thalion said, more to her than to his people. He turned to Legolas as the elder sibling made to step forward towards the girl. "Aphada Gallion." And then, lower, so low that Feren almost missed it. "Ú-aníron i gwannach o nin."

Legolas grunted, refusing to look at Thalion but by the way his eyes had crinkled at the corners, Feren knew his brother's warning had been heard. Thalion dropped his hand and Legolas lurched forward, steadying himself as he went to Arya's side. Thalion spied the girl's forgotten pack and picked it up, refusing Eithillim's offer to carry it for him.

"How long?" Arya asked, pushing off the trunk of the tree as Legolas reached her. She barely paid him any attention but his whole being seemed to be attuned to hers. "How long till we reach my mother?"

"Two days." Legolas said eagerly, gesturing east.

Arya jerked her covered head in the direction of his hand and said with some reluctance: "Lead then. I will follow."

 **.**

The group walked East along the Forest River, following it downstream towards the King's Hall's. Arya kept mostly to herself, barely uttering a sound save for a grunt or a one word answer if asked a direct question. Thalion ordered Elanor, Ithildin and Mallos into the trees, allowing them to run In front of the group and scout ahead. Legolas tried often to start a conversation with the young girl, hobbling along on weak legs. She ignored most of his tries and Feren watched her throughout the day with growing disdain.

What a rude little thing she was! No sense of propriety or manners in the face of royalty. He tried to scold her many times but Thalion would always interrupt, shooting strained looks at the girls back as she continued following Legolas silently. Feren couldn't understand Thalion's continued allowances for the disrespect the girl showed them and Legolas. If it had been anyone else they would have been bound and blindfolded and schooled on manners yet the prince's allowed her to walk free of reprimand.

Feren couldn't wait to be rid of the little beast.

The sun was low in the western sky by the time Thalion called for a rest, concerned by his brother's faltering steps and Arya's tiredness. 'Percieved' tiredness, anyway. Feren watched as she walked on without complaint, sidestepping the roots of trees and undergrowth without much care. Had she not so obviously originated from the East with her colouring, he might have mistaken her easiness for being that of one of the Dunedain. Instead of sighing with relief at the stop, she seemed to be agitated, muttering a few words in a foreign tongue low under her breath. Feren guessed they were curses and despaired at her upbringing. Well, he thought, as Thalion cautiously approached her with her pack held in offering as though she were a hot spring that could erupt at any moment. It isn't much wonder that she is wild and ungrateful, Feren thought, with parenting like her mother's perhaps it was unavoidable. Who would leave a babe so young in a forest so large all alone?

Arya snatched the pack from Thalion without a thank you and turned from him with a huff. The temperature was tepid but even the woodland elves knew the unpredictable temperament of the Edain body when accosted by the elements. For all their efforts, the girl seemed uninterested in the warmth the small kindling provided. Instead she lingered at the edge of the group, sitting with her legs crossed over one another, the idiotic hood still pulled low over her face, though she'd lowered the scarf over her mouth until it rested easily on her chin.

Galion hovered by Legolas, even when he detached himself away from Thalion's probing inquiries to sit beside the girl. Feren watched as he angled his body towards her, face complacent despite the disagreeability of his fading. The girl, much to Feren's annoyance, barely answered his good natured questions. Grunting and hm'ing and at intermit places as if to placate him.

When Eithillim offered her a plate of food she scoffed, took the bowl, sloshing hot liquid onto her gloved fingers and shoved the wooden container at Legolas with a terse: "Eat". The ellon sighed, placing the bowl at his feet, body bending down so that he was closer to her.

"Arya you must eat." He said lowly, though of course, to every elf the words were as clear as if he had shouted them.

She shook her head, digging in her pack for a cloth bag. She shook it in Legolas' face, then tipped it into her waiting palm, a cluster of slightly bruised berries filling her hand. Galion watched her sharply, face impassive as she sucked the berries noisily into her mouth. Feren's nose wrinkled at her decidedly lacking table manners while Galion, eyes never shifting from her, picked up Legolas' bowl and placed it firmly within the Prince's limp grasp.

Thalion stood from spot by the fire and took a seat on the other side of Arya, smiling down at the child in an exaggerated manner.

"Are you excited to see your mother, Arya?"

Arya gave a belated nod, the squelch of berries being crushed to a pulp in her mouth the only sound she made.

"When I saw her, she was tired but seemed well." There was a strange tightness to Thalion's voice and Legolas, who was dutifully obeying Galion's orders and spooning the quick vegetable stew into his mouth tilted his head in, swallowing his mouthful silently.

Arya gave no reply, the only outward sign that she had heard being the slight tightening around her dull eyes and the jerk in her hand as she tipped another mouthful of berries into her mouth.

No more was said that night from her and eventually Thalion managed (with Galion's help) to tug Legolas away from his new charge and lay him on a bedroll where he fell into and exhausted, closed-eye slumber. The sight was alarming and Feren felt a rush of sympathy tightening his mouth as he stared at the sleeping prince for a while. A snuffle behind him caught his attention and he turned his head quickly to catch the child readjust herself beside her pack, arms wrapping around her legs, chin resting on her knees. She fell asleep quickly, eyes sliding shut almost immediately after she settled into her (what Feren thought to be) uncomfortable position. Her plump face softened in slumber and Feren found her far more tolerable when she was unconscious.

Thalion, who looked worse for wear, refused to sleep. Instead, he sat by his brothers head, witling a piece of wood into an unidentifiable form while speaking quietly to Galion. So quietly, even, that Feren knew the decibel of their voices was on purpose. There was something they didn't want them to know and by the grimness that had settled into Galion's eyes was anything to go by, it was something decidedly unpleasant.

 **.**

The girl rose before morning, stretching so violently upon waking that her joints popped loudly, eliciting winces from Thalion and Eithillim and a sigh of content from her. She paid them no mind, of course, retrieving a few items from her pack and walking away from the group, back to the forest river which gleamed in early morning light. After a quick nod in her direction from Thalion, Feren followed at a respectful distance silently, watching as she picked edible berries as she went. He wondered how she knew which ones to eat. Given her colouring, she was from beyond the West, or at least perhaps a stray from Dale. She returned a while later, hood low, scarf pulled back over her mouth and nose. Feren trailed behind her, arriving in the camp seconds after her, she turned as he walked past her, eyes scrunched in such a way that he got the feeling that she had known he was there the entire time.

The girl seemed restless, impatient, refusing the food offered to her with a flick of her hands. As Legolas ate and Thalion tidied the impromptu campsite, she paced back and forth, pack already strapped to her back. It was too large for her and Feren knew it would give her difficulty later but he declined to offer her any help when it was clear she had the utmost disdain for them. If it wasn't for Thalion and insistence that they reunite mother and daughter Feren would option to leave her at the edge of the forest. Let the Wild Men take her in. Arya gave him a look of utter contempt as he passed her and he sighed shortly. Or eat her. Yes. Let the Wild Men eat her.

They set off a short while after, the petulant child walking at the front of the herd. Legolas trailed after her, he seemed content to walk in silence, stopping every now and then to point out aspects of the forest to the girl. Perhaps it was the fact that in the morn they would be at the Halls and she would be with her mother, or maybe the nights rest had warmed her heart, but the girl seemed to be more receptive to his efforts of conversation.

Past midday, when the sun was halfway through it's descent in the sky and just about to tip below the tree line, Feren heard her initiate a conversation. Galion, who had become Legolas' shadow and often held a steadying hand out for the unstable Prince who spent more time looking at Arya looking at the forest floor, watched the child out of the corner of his keen eye.

"They are like you?" she whispered, though again, the quietness was useless against elven ears. All of whom were now acutely attuned to her strange, low voice. "They are edhil too?"

Legolas, startled for a moment at her first full sentence in hours stumbled as he walked. Galion's hands shot out to steady him and though Legolas accepted the help he almost immediately shoved the elder ellon's hands away again in his bid to talk to Arya.

"Yes." He answered quickly, a hint of relief in his voice. Feren wondered why he cared so much for this little Edain. Hadn't he learnt his lesson yet? Hadn't he understood the fate of all elves who dealt with humans? "They are edhil too."

He paused, as if waiting for her to continue her line of inquiry but the child said nothing and would say no more until the beginnings of nightfall had settled over the forest and Thalion stopped the group for rest.

She was sat, crossed legged again, back against her large sack. Her eyes were downcast, hood and scarf still secured over her face. Legolas watched her while Galion's soft fingers fluttered around his skull and under his chin and cheeks. The digits slipped over his own hands occasionally, tutting and sighing as he ran the tips of his fingers over Legolas' brittle fingernails and dry, cracked palms.

"All Edhil have ears like you?" Arya asked suddenly, startling Legolas from his reverie. When he did not immediately respond she made a sound of annoyance at the back of her throat, head snapping up to fix him with her dull eyes. "Mangled? Like yours?"

A titter sounded around the camp, all eyes now on Arya and Legolas and by extension Galion, who raised only a thick eyebrow at Arya's crude question. Legolas, half-frustrated and seemingly half-amused, huffed a small, dry laugh.

"All Edhil's ears are like mine, yes." He answered. "Though you know that they are not mangled, Arya. Only different."

He smiled at the small Edain and she grunted in response, eyes downcast for a moment before shooting up again.

"And only Edhil are here? No Edhil elsewhere?"

Legolas frowned, watching her curiously. "No Arya, there are Edhil in other places as well. Not much, but we linger still."

The edge of Arya's eyebrows edged low on her eyes, she shot Legolas and Galion another, confused look, before quieting for the night. No matter what effort Legolas put in she refused to talk and sleep. The next morn, when Legolas woke from another closed-eye slumber he found her in the same position, unmoved, head downcast, the same water skin clasped limply in her grasp. Her morning routine apparently forgotten, she woke, ate nothing and stood waiting for the elves to get ready. A nervous, agitated energy surrounded her small body, it caused her fingers to tap against her leather breeches and forced her small booted feet to tap tap tap against the forest floor. Though she did not voice her annoyance (for which Legolas was thankful), the child was clearly impatient.

As the group began their journey again, Thalion decided to stand at the front next to his brother. Galion took a spot near the girl, watching as she walked, the healer inside of him causing his hands to often hover in front of him, in case she lost her footing and fell. Not once, though, did she falter. Nor slow, nor ask for respite. She walked steadfastly, back straight, large pack defying all sense to stay upright on her small shoulders.

"Arya," Thalion begun lowly, casual in the way he presented this topic to his brother. Legolas nodded, still weak. Brittle around the edges, a shadow on his brow and his lips, if possible, had grown even drier. Thalion's heart pinched when he looked at him, but not with the usual sadness. This pinch was confused and fearful, it worried for his brother, but it did not despair. He continued his line of inquiry in Sindarin, conscious of the Edain as she walked ahead with Galion. "She is…very strange, no?"

Legolas, who had eyes only for the girl in question, barely allowed his eyes to settle on Thalion before he looked away again.

"I suppose." The elder ventured, unwilling to say anymore.

"You seem…very concerned with her." Thalion hedged, unfurling a long hand in her direction. She was walking quickly, assuredly, as though she knew exactly where she was going. The opposite was true, however, as Galion would often say her name and point her in the right direction to alter her course.

Legolas huffed, in a particularly childish way. "She is a Edain child alone in the forest. Of course I am concerned with her."

Thalion, often prone to a more descriptive face, rolled his eyes in annoyance but opted not to reply.

They had been passing the outer edges of the kingdom since just past midday. The girl of course, had no knowledge of talons and elven homes in woodland realms and so, as the day wore on and there was no sign of her mother, other edhil or any settlement at all, grew suspicious.

Legolas, ever attuned to her movements and temperament, noticed her agitation spike an hour or so after midday. The trees thinned and in the distance, the East River could be heard running over the great bridge to Thranduil's Hall's. Arya needed no guidance from that point on, evidently she had heard the water too and the sounds of talking. As they neared the Great Gate, Arya's tried to covertly put her hand on her waist, to what Legolas assumed was her weapons belt. He was about to tell her that she needn't defend herself as no one would lay a hand on her, but she stopped as she rounded the corner of a tree, almost tripped over her own feet in her shock. A sound, filled with equal parts fright, awe and relief, left her mouth and Legolas was about to ask what was wrong until he rounded the same tree and saw with joy, the Great Gate.

The doors were open. In times of peace elves could go freely with no need of caution and it warmed his heart to see it so.

The other elves came to a stop as well, waiting for their prince and the girl who stared at the grand entrance with wide, wide eyes.

A chubby hand rose, small fingers pointing to the doors, weapons on her waist long forgotten.

"My mother," she started, voice strained. "She is in there?"

Legolas nodded, crouching down at her side with considerable effort. "Yes. Are you ready?"

Arya turned to him, eyes deeply distrustful. She sighed eventually, mouth clenching under her scarf.

"Yes," she answered with a curt nod. "I am ready, Legolas."

* * *

Welp. I'm so sorry it's been so long. I have no other explanation other than I'm trash and this story is hard. I had a really shitty time at University and truthfully, I haven't written anything in a long, long time. My apologies for how rusty this probably read and I apologise again for my terrible Sindarin. At this point it's just always going to be crappy because I'm not much of a linguist. The good news is that I have part of the next chapter already written so it shouldn't take me two years to upload more. Maybe only one year this time.

Thank you so much for reading! And if you're a returning reader thank you so much for waiting so long for my useless butt to update. Please don't forget to comment! Praise of constructive criticism, all is welcome and very, very much appreciated.

Have a lovely week and much Tolkien-love,

Aobh x

 **Translations** :

Peden maw - I spoke well. Literal: I spoke the truth

Din naneth - her mother?

Na hen vae? – Is she safe

Thand Naneth a iell – True (yes) mother and daughter

Will be reuinited: nath aderthar

Gin pul-tan-i lend. Iesten, Thalion- I can make the journey. Please [I wish], Thalion

Aphada Gallion. Ú-aníron i gwannach o nin.- Follow Galion. I do not wish that you depart from me. [I do not wish to lose you.]


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